


Sweet Creature

by roseweasley



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jon Snow knows nothing, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Modern Westeros, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, R plus L equals J, jon snow is a lawyer, sansa stark is at university
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/pseuds/roseweasley
Summary: Jon Snow is a lawyer at a pro-bono law firm. Before that, he was honorably discharged from the military. Sansa Stark is going to grad school to please her parents and her (now ex) boyfriend Joffrey. After a particularly nasty incident involving Joffrey and Harry (and Sansa being in the middle) Sansa decides she wants to come home permanently. The problem is she needs someone (who isn't her mother) to pick her up from the airport. Jon Snow is the obvious choice. Title comes from Harry Styles' Sweet Creature.





	1. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Jonsa fic! I took a LOT of liberty here with Modern!Westeros and some details in the fic. There will be mentions of past physical/emotional abuse and Jon's own PTSD from the military in later chapters. I haven't a clue how long this will be, but I'll be pulling prompts for every chapter! Prompts are from the "100 ways to say I love you" post going around tumblr. The first one is “I’ll pick you up at the airport.” The second one will be “go back to sleep.”

_“I’ll pick you up at the airport.”_

 

Sansa didn’t know who to call.

 

The clock on her phone told her it was well past 3 in the morning, but her insides were ripping apart and if she didn’t call now she’d lose the nerve and have to suffer hours of her mum asking her about school.

           

Winterfell was three hours from the airport. It seemed like an eternity when coming home from King’s Landing. The flight itself wasn’t _that_ long—two and a half hours depending on the wind. She hadn’t told her mum that this could be the last time she’d _come_ home, that she didn’t plan on attending King’s Landing University next semester. Catelyn would be shocked, Sansa had loved the city at first, until her memories turned sour. All it took was one instant. One _person._ Well, two—if she counted Harry (though it was so brief she didn’t even bother counting **him** ).

           

Robb would pick her up, but he’d turn around as soon as he saw her face and buy a one-way ticket to kill Joffrey and no matter how shattered she was she wouldn’t let him do that. Joff wasn’t worth it. Not really.

           

Arya was too busy with her own school and wasn’t due to get out for another week after Sansa would arrive home. That left one person, one person who she’d been terrible to in the past. The one person who never judged her.

           

She thumbed through her contacts until she landed on his name. Jon Snow. Apprehension kept her from pressing the call button. He had a real job now, he was working as a lawyer at some firm that did a lot of pro bono work. Without a doubt he would drop everything and come get her. That’s just who Jon was. He cared.

           

Guilt flooded her chest. She’d never been kind to Jon—quite the opposite really. He was so loved by her siblings. Robb trusted Jon implicitly, Arya looked up to him, Bran confided in him, and even Rickon—little Rickon—loved Jon like a brother. Jealousy, and a touch of a child’s arrogance kept them firmly apart growing up. Sansa did what she could to stay on top of the social pyramid, and Jon ran in a different circle. He’d still been popular in his own way—girls loved his brooding nature and he was an excellent football player (a goalie with reflexes like a cat).

           

Yet here she was, covered in bruises at 3 in the morning, and the only person she could think of was Jon Snow, with his steely eyes and tender heart. Before she registered what she was going she had clicked the call button. He picked up surprisingly quickly.

           

“Sansa?”

 

The concern in his voice made her want to hang up, forget about it, and deal with her problems herself. “Jon—“

           

“Is everything alright? It’s—are you in trouble?” Of course he would think that. He _was_ a lawyer.

           

“N—no.” Tears stung her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. She had to be brave. “I mean—yes. Jon…”

           

“Is this about Joffrey? Did that—did he—“

           

Of course he knew about Joff. Everyone in her family knew what kind of person he was. Joffrey was beautiful, perfect, and quick to snap. They had seen the warning signs, but none had warned her. She was an adult, she told them, and she could take care of herself.

           

 Now she felt weak. He’d made her feel _so_ weak. All contact with her family was monitored by him. If she called Robb too many times, he’d say that she was neglecting him. If she didn’t come to his flat four times a week then he would accuse her of cheating and—

           

It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that she needed to go home and she needed help. “I need someone to bring me home from the airport tomorrow. My flight lands at noon.” It was a weekday, which was a lot to ask for. He was probably busy. “Forget it—Jon. I’m sorry, I know it’s late—“

           

“Sansa.” She heard Jon’s sigh through the phone. “I’ll pick you up. Text me your flight details.”

           

Her eyes were leaking in earnest now. She truly hated how they betrayed her. “Thank you.” She whispered.

           

“Goodnight Sansa.”

           

“Goodnight Jon.”

           

With that, the green bar disappeared from her screen and her breathing had returned to normal.

 

 

It was only a few hours later when her alarm woke her with a harsh beeping. Thankfully, she had been completely packed for days. There was still a lot to take home from her apartment, but she wouldn’t think about it. Couldn’t think about it. She looked down at her phone and made sure to text Jon her information.

 

Sansa: Here’s my flight details. Thank you so much, Jon.

 

Jon: Don’t mention it. Really, because I think Robb would feel left out.

 

Sansa smiled at the thought of her brother. It would be nice to see him especially because it was Christmas time. Christmas was his favorite holiday and he played it up every year.

 

Sansa: Is he running around in a Santa costume yet?

 

Jon: I think I’ve seen the antlers, but not the costume. Yet.

           

Robb had started dating one of Sansa’s friends growing up, Margaery Tyrell, a few years back. Margaery had _mostly_ put a stop to his ridiculous antics especially she and Robb had moved in together. She _couldn’t_ stop him from turning their apartment into a “winter wonderland” as Robb called it.

           

Sansa: Winter wonderland yet?

                       

Jon: Yes. Decked halls and everything. Can you keep a secret? Remind me to tell you something when I pick you up.

           

Sansa: Alright. I’m boarding now. I’ll text you when I land.

           

She’d spent the entire flight thinking of what the secret could be, of what it would be like when she saw Jon, of how she was going to hide the bruises. It wasn’t until they touched down in the Neck that she felt a peace settle around her. Home. It was so close she could taste it. Better yet, Joffrey couldn’t reach her here. No one could.

           

Sansa: I’m here. It’s cold, even in the airport. I forgot what real cold feels like.

           

Jon: I’m in the pickup area. I brought someone. I hope you don’t mind.

           

Her blood went cold. Gods, she hoped it wasn’t a member of her family. She hurried to the baggage claim before bracing herself and stepping into the frigid December air.

           

 “Sansa!” Jon waved from where he was leaning against his car just to her left. Her eyes roamed over him and fell on a white face sticking out of his back window.

           

“Ghost!” Sansa forgot, just for a moment, to _think._ She tugged her suitcase over and grabbed the wolfdog’s face with her hands and gave his ears a rub.

           

A chuckle brought her to her senses. Jon looked so at home, ears pink and eyes bright. “Let’s get going or we’ll both freeze.” He grabbed her suitcase and heaved it easily into the trunk of his truck. Part of her wanted to climb in the back seat with Ghost, to bury her face in his fur and not think about what would happen when they arrived at home.

                       

Despite that, she pulled herself into the passenger side and let out a deep breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Thank you for coming to get me,” she whispered. “It means a lot.”

           

He glanced at her as he changed lanes. “You’re welcome.” _Ever the talker._ “Would you like to get lunch? It’s a long drive back.”

           

“Sure.” She smiled at him—or attempted to—before looking back at Ghost. “What will we do with this guy?” A look she couldn’t quite process crossed his face so quickly she wondered if she imagined it.

           

“Actually,” he cleared his throat anxiously. “Ghost is a service dog.”

           

“Oh.” Sansa stared at her fingers intently. “Right, well. Wherever you’d like to go.”

           

For the first time since he’d picked her up they fell into an unsure silence. Part of her felt like she didn’t know him—he had been through so much in his life with losing his mom, being in the service, and becoming a lawyer. She was so focused on her broken pieces that she forgot people around her might be broken too.

 

“It’s just up here.” Jon took the first exit off the freeway and pointed to a sign that said “ _Welcome to Moat Cailin_ ”. Her dad had taken them to Moat Cailin when they were younger. Jon trailed along more often than not, and she knew that there was a restaurant that served amazing milkshakes and chips.  

           

“Jon Snow, ever the sentimentalist.” Despite herself, she felt a smile tug at her lips. It was an easy rhythm—falling back into it was like riding a bike.

           

He pulled up to the restaurant and opened the door for Ghost, taking his leash and making him sit and wait for Sansa at the entrance. She hadn’t noticed before, but a service dog vest was wrapped around his belly. Now that she knew Ghost was on duty, she made a point to not brush her hand across his head (not matter how inviting the thought was).

 

The interior was exactly how she remembered it. There was black and white tiling everywhere and the walls were flanked with red booths. A jukebox sat in one corner and in another was an old fashioned soda machine.

           

The waitress motioned for them to sit wherever they liked. Without speaking they gravitated towards the last booth—the one her family always occupied.

           

“I hope I didn’t mess up your work schedule.” Sansa pursed her lips. “I know you took a whole day to come get me. I really appreciate—“

           

Jon looked weary as he studied her face. “Stop apologizing Sansa, or I’ll leave you here with Ghost.” It was a joke, she knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh.

           

“Okay.” She busied herself with looking over the menu even though she knew what she was getting. A strawberry milkshake, chips, and chili. When the waitress came over she ordered just that and busied herself with the napkin in front of her when she no longer had a menu to peruse. Jon ordered steak and eggs, and it was such a Jon thing she could’ve cried. Normalcy was so odd after all of these years.

           

The time seemed to stretch on and on—stretching between them like a high tide. Finally, he broke it (which startled her out of her thoughts). “Robb’s going to propose to Marg.”

           

It didn’t surprise her. Robb loved Margaery—he looked at her like she put the stars in the sky. It was the type of love you weren’t supposed to envy but did anyways. A type of love she had _always_ dreamed of. She’d been a stupid girl, head full of songs with a porcelain skin.

           

“Is that what you want me to keep a secret?” Jon nodded in front of her. “You’ll be the Best Man, I assume. Theon will fight you for it.” _Jon would look better in the suit._

 

“Robb asked me and I said yes. You’ll be the Maid of Honor. We’ll probably see a lot of each other.” That made her smile, at least. Her grin doubled when their food came out, plates steaming. She dove in, dipping a crisp into her milkshake. The smile stuck this time and she kept telling herself that she wasn’t in King’s Landing anymore. She was home.

 

Lunch passed quickly. Jon ordered pie at the end, announcing that it was a special occasion. Though she’d just sucked down her milkshake, she insisted on stealing a few bites (it was lemon meringue—her favorite. Jon never cared for lemon but he _had_ cared for her). She sprawled a heavy hand across her stomach and leaned back when they were finished. “You’ll have to roll me to the car. Maybe Ghost can help.”

 

Jon’s chuckle warmed her heart even more. It was brassy and reminded her of nights spent playing snap with him and her siblings. He paid the bill—much to her protest—and offered her a hand when he stood. It felt good to hold on to him. He was solid and she felt like any moment she would cease to exist.

 

“Thank you, Jon.” She took his hand once they were on the road again, giving it a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “For everything.”

 

Jon gave her the same look he gave her earlier, something unreadable and full of meaning. “You’re welcome Sansa. Now, let’s see if you can’t find something worth listening to on the radio.” As she sat and flipped through the radio stations she wondered if it wouldn’t just be better to sit in his car forever, pretending like the world at home didn’t exist.

 

 


	2. "Go back to sleep."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow and Sansa Stark finish up their drive home. Sansa and Jon bake cookies at his cottage. They meet Sam, Jon's roommate and one of his best friends. Fluff AND angst!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This was a pretty quick update for me. I have so much muse for these two losers! Just a note: Jon was honorably discharged from the military for PTSD related things. Sam served his full tour and is in law school now. I mention a playlist (and a few songs from this playlist) in this fic. You can find the playlist hyperlinked in the fic! It's the Women of Jazz Spotify playlist! Disclaimer: I know a lot about coffee and very little about law/military things. As usual feel free to message me on tumblr (weasleyrose) or drop me a comment here! Happy Thrones Day!

 The rest of the trek back passed with Sansa and Jon filling each other in on what they had missed. Jon told Sansa about the ring that Robb had picked out for Margaery--how the band was threaded with vines culminating in a rose shaped diamond—and how Robb planned to propose (it involved Grey Wind and her family’s greenhouses).

 

Sansa told Jon about the classes that she liked. It wasn’t all bad, though she wasn’t perusing the degree for the right reasons. She had a degree in business and had taken some culinary arts classes with the hopes of opening her own coffee shop. Something small that was hers, that she could decorate with art from all of the places that coffee came from. Once she got started talking about her love of coffee he was loath to stop her. She looked so _happy_ for the first time since he picked her up.

 

The twinkle in her eye made his stomach swoop. It reminded him of just how empty her face had looked when he had picked her up. It still shocked him that she had chosen him, of all people, to come get her. When he was a kid Sansa’s complete refusal to acknowledge his presence had disappointed him. He loved the Starks like they were his own family and had always felt like he was on the fringe because of the coldness from Sansa. It didn’t matter now. Now, they were adults. He’d been through a lot since then and it was clear that Sansa had as well.

 

“What kind of coffee do you drink, Jon?” He smiled and shook his head slowly.

 

“The black kind. I wouldn’t know one coffee from another.” On the off chance he didn’t get coffee from the Keurig at work he would go to the coffee shop down the street and order whatever was on tap.

 

“We will have to do a coffee tasting!” Sansa clapped her hands together happily and sat forward in her seat. “That way you can help me pick out which coffees to use for the shop. If, you know, I do open it.”

 

“I think you’d be great at that, Sansa.” When she had a passion for something there was no getting in her way.

 

They made good time to Winterfell. As they got closer, Sansa spoke less and less. It wasn’t until they were approaching the Stark’s estate that she spoke. “Jon.”

 

The worry in her voice was evident. Jon knew that all too well—the sound of someone who wanted to avoid those who are too perceptive. When he came back from active duty he had felt the same way, had the same voice when he asked Robb not to take him to the Starks until the night terrors stopped. When they didn’t, he learned to manage his flashbacks.

 

“Sansa.” He pulled into the parking lot of the Dairy Treat, an ice cream shop they’d walked to as kids. “I’m not going to ask what happened.” Years of therapy taught him that sometimes things needed to come out organically. That, and he was sure he would be the last person Sansa wanted to talk to about such things. “I’m going to tell you putting off seeing them isn’t going to help anything in the long run. It’ll just make things harder.”

 

Sansa stared blankly out the window, face cast like that of a woman doomed for execution. Jon wanted to reach out, to grab her hand, but he knew from experience such things could be jarring and do more harm than help, so he gripped the steering wheel tighter and ignored the pang in his chest.

 

“Can I stay with you? Just for a night?” That was _not_ what he had been expecting. If anything he thought she would want to spend the day downtown going to all of the shops she frequented when she was home. He had certainly not expected her to want to spend more time with him.

 

Not that he was bothered. No, he felt something stirring in him that he hadn’t felt in years. That torch he bore for her for _years_ sputtered back to life in that instant. He’d given up hope completely that she would even want to be around him, much less stay in his shabby cottage for a night. It struck him that she felt _safe_ around him which made him wonder just what it was that she had been through when she’d been down south.

 

Ever since Robb had moved out to go live with Margaery, Jon had been renting the cottage with his friend Sam. Sam had been a combat medic with Jon in the military, and had had served his full term in the military before pursuing law school. Jon had joked that it was a shame Sam had gone to law school after him because he could’ve used his notes which were more detailed than any Jon had ever seen.

 

“I live with a friend, but so long as you don’t mind…” He breathed through his nose and hoped she didn’t notice just how nervous he was.

 

Sansa reached out her hand and he saw in her eyes just how much she needed it. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze before turning around and heading back towards downtown. “Let’s get some stuff for cookies. I haven’t had anything home cooked in over a month. Since I last had dinner at your mum and dad’s.” He knew just how much Sansa loved baking and his poor little cottage could use the warmth that only baking could bring.

 

For a moment he saw the spark come back to her eyes. “What kind of cookies?”  

 

“Whatever kind you want.”

 

In the end they wove through the aisles of the Cassel Corner Market, Ghost obediently following by Jon’s side, looking for ingredients to make lemon drop cookies, along with some brown sugar nutmeg, and the classic chocolate chip. Jon assured Sansa that he had the basics: flour, sugar, and maybe some vanilla, but they would need to build up his pantry with just about everything else. As a lawyer, Jon already didn’t have time to cook. As someone who burned nearly everything he touched, he really didn’t have time to cook because it meant hours of scrubbing burnt pans.

 

Sansa, who had disappeared to the candy aisle, came back with her arms overflowing with gummy bears, chocolate, and sour patch kids. Jon laughed but said nothing as she deposited her treats into their cart. “That’s it then?” Sansa nodded and Jon wove towards the beer and wine. “Still like pink moscato?” The look she gave him was one of surprise mixed with a little embarrassment. In truth, Jon still remembered her first hangover (after one of Margaery’s big summer blowouts her junior year of high school) and the look on her face when he had handed her a plate of sausage and bacon and told her to eat.

 

“I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.” She laughed and pulled a small bottle of Malibu from the shelf. “Malibu and lemonade.” It was too sweet for Jon, who took down a fifth of Jack and threw a couple of imported beers into his cart (the Dornish had the best breweries in Westeros). After they picked up the lemonade they were ready to check out. Jon insisted on paying for everything, telling Sansa that it was a giant favor for her to cook for him and Sam. Part of him wanted to see that blush spread across her cheeks again. The one she got when he did something nice for her, like she wasn’t used to people being nice. That thought made him queasy—the idea that she was being treated anything less than the amazing woman she was made him want to punch a hole in the wall.

 

Sansa loaded Ghost into the car as he threw the groceries in the bed of his truck. It was snowing in earnest now, and he was grateful he had the foresight to put the cover on before he’d left. When they pulled round the corner to his cottage he started to feel the sprinkling of nerves set in. Of course she would like Sam, he had yet to meet someone who didn’t, but what if she thought his cottage was shabby? Well, it _was_ shabby, but that wasn’t the point. He pulled into the driveway and turned to gauge her look. He thought he detected a look of excitement, but he dismissed it as hopeful thinking.  

 

Jon opened the door to let Ghost out, who obediently looped towards the porch, waiting for his owner to follow. Sansa grabbed her suitcases and Jon grabbed the groceries. It looked like Sam wasn’t home, he was probably studying at the library, which would give them time to explore the house alone.

 

Once they were safely inside, Jon glanced around _hoping_ that Sam had done one of his bursts of “winter cleaning” and tided the place up. They had company regularly, Glily, Sam’s girlfriend, came round nearly every day. Ygritte, Jon’s ex and close friend came by a couple times a week. They weren’t slobs—Jon learned to be neat and orderly in the military, but they lacked a woman’s touch.   

 

The foyer was small and contained only a table for keys with a small lamp. When Jon asked why they needed a lamp there, Gilly had snorted. Jon didn’t ask questions after that. The closet was small and tucked off to the side. Jon took Sansa’s coat and hung it next to his own. The hallway led to the kitchen and dining area. A short hallway led to Jon’s room and the guest room they used as an office. Sam slept upstairs.

 

The walls were all painted various shades of blue. Jon loved the cottage because it was home. His home. It was bigger than most apartments he had lived in growing up, which made him proud. He’d done something with his life, going against most odds.

 

He led her down the hall to the guest room, pointing out the bathroom across the hall and the linen closet should she need anything. The room was small, with a desk pushed against one wall and a bed against the other. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll unpack the groceries. Take your time.” He left her to settle in and headed to the kitchen, pulling out cookie sheets and mixing bowls. It would be cramped with two people moving around but they could utilize the kitchen table.

 

While he was shuffling through cabinets looking for the sugar Sansa emerged from the guest room. “Ready?” The excitement in her voice made his stomach do another swoop.   

 

“Yes.” He pulled an apron out of the closet triumphantly, followed by the sugar. The apron was beyond gaudy, it was black with red scalloping on the hem. Written on the front was the phrase ‘kissed by fire’ in garish red writing. “I may or may not have set a fire during a backyard barbecue one time. My friends got me this as a gag gift. You’ll be flour free, though.”

 

One of those smiles crossed her face again. Small and hesitant, like she was waiting for the ball to drop. She took the apron and slid it over her head anyway. It looked amazing on her, though he suspected that _anything_ would look amazing on her. Even the yoga pants she had changed into looked amazing. “Where would you like me?” He asked. “I burn things, keep that in mind.”

 

She laughed then, it was like the bells of heaven ringing through his very own kitchen. “You’ll be in charge of drinks and the music.” He moved to do as he was told, plugging his phone into the kitchen speaker and flipping through Spotify until he found a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/spotify/playlist/37i9dQZF1DX5OepaGriAIm) she would like. Ella Fitzgerald crooned through the kitchen then and he smiled. He shuffled through the cupboards, pulling out his drink shaker and two glasses. During law school, he had bartended for a pub just south of Castle Black. It was something he had enjoyed, people tell the most interesting stories through their drink orders.

 

After shaking her drink and depositing in her glass, he poured himself a beer and went to join her. In a short time she had managed to make a base dough to which they would add the ingredients for each of the three types of cookies. He dipped his finger in before she could smack it away and brought it to his mouth. “That’s good _already._ ”

 

“It’ll be even better if we have some by the end.” She teased, splitting the dough in three. “Preheat the oven for me.” He nodded and moved to do ask she asked. It was such a small space that he had to squeeze past her to reach the dial. When that was done he leaned against the counter and watched her work.

 

“You’ve got flour on your nose.” After a heartbeat he reached up and dusted it off for her. “There.” A blush spread across his cheeks. It should be easier to reach over and touch her, but she was _Sansa_ and he had to keep reminding himself that she just needed a soft place to land. Nothing more. In truth, he still wasn’t sure what she thought of him.

 

“Thank you.” Sansa stared intently at the bowl before her—she was making his favorite first, brown sugar nutmeg—and he resisted the urge to turn her chin towards his. To tell her she was safe, loved, and adored in this space.

 

At that moment the song turned, _At Last_ by Etta James, and the door swung open. Ghost hopped up from his spot under the kitchen table to greet Sam. The spell was broken, and Jon wanted to throttle Sam.

 

“Hello!” Sam stopped in his tracks when he saw Sansa. “Jon! You didn’t tell me we’d be having guests.” His tone was welcoming, not in the least bit harsh.

 

“Sam,” Jon motioned to Sansa before motioning back to Sam. “Sansa. Sansa, Sam. Sansa will be staying here for the night _and_ she’s cooking for us. Cookies.” Sam brightened at that.

 

“Ah! Finally! Someone who knows how to cook! Jon _burns_ things, doesn’t cook them. Don’t ever let him cook you a hamburger.” Jon smiled good-naturedly and turned to Sansa, who was smiling at Sam knowingly.

 

“I once had his mac and cheese. We were kids and it was boxed. I didn’t think you could mess that up. Until then.” She wiped a hand on her apron before extending it to Sam. “It’s nice to meet you. Jon told me about you on the way down.”

 

Sam took her hand and glanced between her and Jon. “Jon here’s told us a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you, though I wish I could stick around longer. I have a final exam in one of my classes and revisions are destroying me.”

 

Sansa nodded in understanding and went back to her mixing. “We’ll let you know when the cookies are done.” One last smile from Sam and he retreated to his room. After a comfortable silence during which he helped Sansa roll the cookies into balls, she spoke. “You talk about me?”

 

That startled Jon. He had really _seriously_ hoped that she hadn’t picked up on that. “Yeah—I mean—childhood memories.”

 

“I was horrible to you when we were children.” Sansa whispered.

 

“No—not… not _horrible._ We were _children,_ Sansa.” It didn’t seem to assuage her, so he tried again. “It’s alright Sansa. We grew up.”

 

She turned so she could put the cookies in the oven and bumped into his chest. They were flush against each other—he could feel her warmth through the apron. His eyes darted down to hers, and hers up to his. In that moment there was absolutely no breath left in his lungs for breathing. _“What a lovely way to burn…”_ Crooned the speakers and he almost choked at how poetic the moment was. It was he who broke the contact, moving to the left so she could move past him. After taking a sip of his drink he wondered whether he had imagined the way her breathing had sped up—not from fear, but from desire—or if he just _wanted_ that to be the case. It was safer to ignore it.

 

The cookies puffed up in no time and they laughed as they burned their fingers pulling them off the sheet straight out of the oven. They laughed even harder when Ghost bounded over, worried that the tears streaking down their faces was because of pain and not pleasure. Once mollified, Ghost stalked back to his spot and stared at them with piercing red eyes.

 

They did the dishes together, Sansa humming and swaying in time with the music that spilled from the speakers. Jon couldn’t help but stare at her when she was like that, content to exist in her own little world as she wiped down the counter.

 

_Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_

_Birds singing in a sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me_

_Say nighty night and kiss me_

_Just hold me tight and tell me you miss me_

_While I'm alone and blue as can be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

 

In that moment he felt himself slip a little further into Sansa’s world. It was like she was all around him, pulling him in without a second thought. Soon enough _he_ was swaying and humming softly, horribly off-key, because her atmosphere was absolutely intoxicating.

 

When they couldn’t justify eating anymore cookies Jon called down for Sam, who happily took a lemon drop and chocolate chip. Sansa excused herself, wanting to shower to rid herself of the dust from travel and cooking. Sam gave Jon a pointed look, pinning him to the spot.

 

“She okay?” He whispered, once she was gone. “You said she was pretty shaken on the phone.”

 

Jon didn’t know if she was okay, all he knew is that he would die before anyone could hurt her again. “I don’t know, Sam.” Sam seemed to understand, at least. Gilly’s father had been horribly abusive and though they had started dating after his death, he’d heard all about it.

 

“She seems nice.”

 

“She is, Sam. She’s… she’s amazing.” Jon tapped the table with his knuckles. “I just want to protect her.”

 

“You can’t protect everyone.” Sam murmured. He was one of the wisest friends Jon had, and wasn’t afraid of realism.

 

“I can try.”

 

The rest of the night was spent in comfortable silence. He and Sansa shared the couch, her curled up reading a novel and him flipping through a case file for a trial coming up after the holidays. Sansa retired early, having not slept well the night before.

 

Jon was not tired. Not in the least. He flipped through TV channels aimlessly until he settled on The Godfather. He must have nodded off because the next thing he knew, he was being awoken by screams. Loud, piercing, heart wrenching screams. It wasn’t the first time he’d been woken in such a way. His own screams woke him up, less frequently now than they had, still he remembered the feeling. He ran to Sansa’s room and threw open the door to find her thrashing in the bed. “Sansa!” He sat at the edge and grabbed her arms before she could hurt herself. “Sansa. It’s just a dream. It’s okay.”

 

It took a minute, but after more soothing words from Jon she stilled and began to cry. He knew she was awake though she had yet to open her eyes. She pulled on his shirt and he laid so he could wrap his arms around her. “Shhh,” he murmured, running his hands through her hair. “Shhh, Sansa. It’s okay. I’m here. No one will hurt you. No one will ever hurt you again.” That made her cry harder. Her fists tightened in his shirt and he wondered, for the millionth time that day, what had happened when she was down south.

 

“Stay. Please.” She croaked.

 

He nodded and her breathing slowed. He knew now why she didn’t want to go home, not yet.

 

“Go back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! Chapter 3 should be coming soon!


	3. "You don't have to say anything" / "It can wait until tomorrow"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa spend the day in bed, not quite in the way you'd expect. Blanket forts are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad because this is kind of a filler chapter, but I want to show more of their dynamic before I further the plot. It's been kind of slow so far but I promise it'll pick up! I'm posting this pretty early in the day because I'll be at work so I hope to update by Tuesday, but if not it'll be by the end of the week. Much love! THANK you to everyone who has left comments and kudos! You guys keep me going. As always, feel free to reach out to me on tumblr @weasleyrose. I've been making gifs since the episode ended.

Sansa woke with a start, her breathing shallow and chest pushed up against something hard and muscular. It took her a minute to remember what had happened last night. When it finally came to her, she found herself blushing furiously. How could she have acted like that? He had been so kind to her though. He didn’t ask questions, he just stroked her hair and made her feel safe. It had been years since she had felt safe.

 

The clock on the desk told her it was still early—it was only six—but she wasn’t tired anymore. Despite her desperate need to pee, which she suspected woke her up, she couldn’t seem to pull away from his embrace. It was too warm, too familiar (though completely foreign at the same time), and too safe. His breathing was steady, and the rhythm calmed her.

 

She took time to openly study his features. They were sharper than she remembered. His nose didn’t look as long as it had when they were children. His cheekbones stood out beautifully under his dark lashes. They were so _long._ Long enough for her to envy. His beard was neatly trimmed and it suited him. When they were growing up he had been able to grow out a beard before Robb, something Jon had shoved in his face for years. It made him look dignified, refined, almost knightly. Her fingers whispered against it, wanting to feel if it was as coarse as it looked.

 

He must’ve been a heavy sleeper, she realized, because he did not move an inch as her fingers trailed along his face. It was the most intimate she had been with anyone in a long time, but it felt good. It felt natural. That shocked her a little bit. She had thought she would be afraid of intimacy after all that had happened. Perhaps she was but at the same time, she felt a pull to his lips.

 

She wouldn’t kiss him though. It was too much. He looked so peaceful though, so dreamlike. Her hand dropped dejectedly. She didn’t want to think about how good it felt to be encircled in his arms. Not when there was no way he felt the same way.

* * *

 

He stirred, finally, eyes fluttering open and then growing wide. “Sansa…”

 

“I—“ Her voice sounded like it was a million miles away, lost somewhere where she couldn’t find it.

 

“You don’t have to say anything.” It was then that she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He understood her, in a way that no one else could. She didn’t know how—or why—but he _knew_ what she needed.

 

Part of her suspected that it came from the war. If he didn’t want to tell her, she wouldn’t pry, but she was curious to know just _what_ had happened to him. Maybe one day they would be able to share, but for now she reluctantly moved out of his arms.

 

“Sansa.” Jon’s voice was hoarse with sleep. It stirred something inside of her she thought was long dead. Something about fairytales and knights that she used to dream of when she was young. “We don’t have to face the day yet.”

 

Her face colored with confusion as his turned pink. “What—“

 

“I just mean… we don’t have to do anything yet. We can stay here a little longer.” Maybe he needed this too. Time to heal and shut out the outside world. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who wanted to be locked away until the holidays were over. It was nice to know she wasn’t alone, in more ways than one.

 

“Okay,” she nodded. “But I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back.” It wasn’t just the restroom she needed, it was the cold water for her face. She was sure that her puffy eyes were less than appealing, and no matter how much Jon had seen already, she wanted their morning to be relaxing rather than taxing on the eyes.

 

A little tooth brushing wouldn’t hurt either. She was glad that she had the foresight to leave her toiletries in the bathroom. She took her time and decided as she glanced at herself in the mirror, that she really ought to do something with her hair. Her hands wove through it, plaiting it deftly, before she nodded and rejoined Jon.

 

In the few minutes that she had been in the bathroom, he’d been busy. Somehow he had turned the lonely guestroom into something truly spectacular. The bed was the basis for a blanket fort—something she hadn’t seen in _years_. He had managed to hang a sheet from the light fixture to the bedposts, creating a little tent that they could sit under. When she peaked around, she saw him fluffing up pillows around the bed.

 

“Jon! This is…” She was at a complete loss for words. Instantly her mind turned to Joff, and how he would’ve thought such things juvenile and stupid. But Jon… Jon _knew_ that she loved blanket forts. He knew that she needed one, and so he made one.

 

“D’you like it?” He blurted and she realized that she hadn’t responded.

 

“Oh Jon… I love it.” She wasted no time jumping onto the bed and curling up with the pillows. “You made it so quickly!”

 

“I’m used to setting up camp in less than five minutes.” Of course, his military training. Her mind didn’t automatically go from military to blanket forts, but she could see the connection.

 

“You don’t have anything better to do?” His face turned serious then. It was the sort of broody serious she was used to seeing when they were younger.

 

“It can wait until tomorrow.” She nodded, not wanting to press him any further. In truth, she wanted him to stay with her. Sansa was _tired_ of being alone. Ever since her breakup with Joff, and the mishap with Harry, there had been a consistent feeling of isolation. Jon was _there._ Not there in the way that her mum would be, or even her dad. He seemed content to be there with her, to just _exist._ In this moment, they were existing together. It was so beautiful she could’ve cried.

 

“I don’t want to go home.” The Stark family was full of brave, courageous, even foolhardy people. If she went home she would feel like an outsider, lost among the swords that held the family together. She wasn’t brave, not anymore. What was the point in being brave if you were going to be scared anyways?

 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.” Jon murmured. She studied his face for signs of irritation, or even hesitation, but she found none. The look on his face was measured, resigned, warm. It was the complete opposite of what she would expect. “But—“

 

She groaned. _But_ might be her least favorite word. “Father always said—“

 

“Everything that comes before but is horseshit. I remember.” He let out a low chuckle and grabbed her hand. “You have to face them eventually, Sansa. How about one more night? Tomorrow we can make a plan. I’ll come get you if you need me. You have to promise me that you’ll try.”

 

“I promise.” That seemed like enough for him. He gave her hand a squeeze and flipped so he was lying on his back. “You remember when we were kids and Arya would want to play knights and maidens? But she wanted to be the knight.”

 

Jon smiled at that, rolling on his side so he could face her. “I remember. You wanted me to be the dragon.” _Maybe I just couldn’t see that you were the knight._ Robb had always played the knight, Sansa the maiden, and Arya the King. “And Arya was the King but she always fought on the front lines.”

 

Sansa laughed at the memory of Arya riding around on a stick pony, shouting orders at Robb. “It seems like such a long time ago.”

 

“It was.” Jon was quickly approaching thirty. He’d celebrated his twenty-eighth birthday just a few months back. Sansa was nearing twenty-five. They hadn’t played knights and maidens since Jon was twelve. “It was sixteen years ago. That’s a hell of a long time ago.”

 

It was, but she longed for those days. How simple it was to pretend like the world was divided into good and evil. Their lives had been so much different. Sansa, the chronic optimist, and Jon had a mum back then. Arya was married already, had been for two years. They were adults, but she didn’t always feel like one.

 

She burrowed further into the blankets, eyes staring up at the blanket Jon had used for the fort. For the first time she had noticed the pattern. Dragons. It brought a smile to her face. Maybe the past wasn’t so far away.

 

“If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?” Robb called this the hypothetical game. The Starks played it to test each other. It was always a battle of morality, but she didn’t mind it. She knew Jon had participated a couple of times.

 

“I would go to Old Valyria, the Smoking Sea. See where my dad’s family came from.” Jon hardly ever talked about his father, which shocked her. He had died when Jon was a baby, and it wasn’t until his mum died that he found out he had been married at the time. “What would you do?”

 

“I would go to the Free Cities. I would try every single coffee they have to offer. I would learn the languages and the history, then I would come home. I would open up my own shop and sell the things I learned about while I was there. Coffee, foods…” It was a nice dream to have, but it made her sad talking about it.

 

“Why don’t you?” Jon’s question cut through her like a knife. She didn’t have an answer for him. Not one that didn’t sound pathetic.

 

“Why don’t you?” Deflection was her main defense mechanism. It worked on Joff most of the time. He mistook it for interest. Jon knew her better.

 

“Because Old Valyria is surrounded by treacherous waters and I don’t know how to sail. Plus, I like my job and I wouldn’t want to lose it.” It was such a stereotypical Jon answer she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. It was not lost on her, though, the softness to which he replied to her. It was the complete opposite of the way Joff would’ve. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

 

“Here.” There was no cutting corners, no lying between them. He was honest with her, so she would be honest with him. Saying it made her feel weak—like she was giving up some of her power with her answer. “I feel safe.” As if on cue, Ghost crawled under the blanket and leaped onto the bed. There was no space for him, but he decided to make space anyway. He laid right between them, a furry dividing line that Sansa was grateful for.

 

Something foreign crossed Jon’s face, so quickly was it gone that she thought she’d imagined it. He fisted a hand in Ghost’s fur and shut his eyes. At first she thought he had fallen asleep, but when he opened them, she saw they were full of—admiration? Amazement? Something she couldn’t place, but that scared her all the same. They were too _real._

 

“I’d rather be down south, getting tan on a beach somewhere.” He teased. The bubble was broken as she dissolved into giggles. Ghost sprung up and plastered her face with kisses, which only made her giggle harder. It wasn’t long before Jon joined in too, his laughter bouncing off the walls of the tiny room.

 

Her stomach betrayed her, letting out a growl so loud that they could hear it over the laughter. Jon groaned, burying his face in the pillow next to him. “I don’t ever want to leave this bed.” Sansa nodded her agreement, as she crawled to the edge of the bed.

 

“How about I bring food back? Breakfast in bed in exchange for the wicked fort you designed?” Jon nodded, promising to make structural improvements while she was away.

 

She hummed to herself as she twirled around the kitchen. He had sausage, thankfully, and some eggs. She even managed to find some frozen pancakes. It wouldn’t be gourmet, but it would taste good enough. After she was done frying everything up she pulled out the biggest plate she could find and grabbed two forks. They could share easily enough.

 

When she came back to the bedroom it was clear just how _many_ improvements Jon had made. Music was playing softly from inside the fort, the walls now encompassing most of the room. He had placed pillows strategically on the floor so Ghost wouldn’t have to share the bed. There were more blankets than before to lay under, and even a camping lamp illuminating the whole tent.

 

“Wow.” Sansa smiled and placed herself gently on the bed. “I’m impressed, Snow. Ever think of taking up a career in blanket fort architecture?”

 

That earned her a chuckle and a wink, which made her heart beat faster and her hands shake slightly. She gestured towards the plate and passed him a fork. He took a bite of the eggs (scrambled because that was easiest for large batches) and groaned his approval. _That_ noise should be illegal.

 

“I’m glad you like it.” Sansa took a bite herself and started to feel the pull towards normalcy. Eating eggs in a bed with Jon Snow wasn’t normal, but it could be. That idea was _something_ in and of itself.

 

* * *

 

After they finished breakfast they fell into what was quickly becoming their routine. Jon went to grab some of his notes for an upcoming trial, and Sansa read quietly, with Ghost nosing at her hand every couple minutes, asking to be pet. Occasionally, she would catch Jon staring at her out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but return the favor. She noticed little things—how he worried at his pen between his teeth before he would jot down a note in the margin of his paper, or how he tapped his knuckle on the bed sheet right before he turned the page. Foul looks didn’t belong on Jon Snow’s face. On the contrary, she had never seen him look anything other than pleasant. He would smile at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It was so soft and tender that it made her heart melt. She hadn’t a clue why.

 

They spent the day following the same cycle. When one of them got hungry, or thirsty, they would crawl out of the fort and bring goodies back. After Jon brought sandwiches back for dinner, he declared it was near the appropriate time to drink. He brought her back a mixed drink and himself some Jack and they settled in, not speaking about what would happen when she fell asleep.

 

Jon couldn’t be her protector forever. That was a ridiculous thought—he wasn’t even her friend. Well, she supposed, after this week he _would_ be. They had seen too much of each other to deny that. How could she ask him to stay without sounding needy? Joff and Harry had hated when she asked for _anything_ so she adjusted. She became independent and absolutely reliant on them. But with Jon it was different. She didn’t want to intrude.

 

It was Jon who brought it up. “I have Ghost to sleep with.” He bit his lip, a gesture that had Sansa’s stomach in knots. “He helped with the nightmares. It was bad at first—I wasn’t able to sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time when I came home. When I was still active duty… it—it was much shorter. Five, maybe ten minutes at a time. Ghost was always a smart dog. My mum had him trained as a service dog when he was a puppy. When I came back it was different. I needed him. I still need him.”

 

She nodded encouragingly. “He’s a good boy.”

 

“He is. But if you need him, or me…” Her cheeks colored. “I won’t judge you. Whatever you need.”

 

“Can you sleep here again? I’m sorry.” The apology was a reflex, learned after years of dealing with Joff. “I need something to hold on to.”

 

Jon knew, that much was clear in his features. They were soft and inviting. She wanted to pull him into her arms and thank him the only way she could—she wasn’t good with words. Not anymore. She had been silent for too long. It had turned her into a poetic tragedy. “Of course, but I need a shower.” He gave her one last kind smile before crawling out of the fort. Soon enough she heard the water running and fell back against the pillows. It was another early night, but soon enough she was drifting off with Ghost curled against her back.

 

* * *

 

Jon came out of the shower in a hastily thrown together pajama set. He slept naked most of the time, so he’d chosen boxers that weren’t torn (they were adorned with fire breathing dragons) and a shirt that said Winterfell University, with a giant snarling direwolf on the front. Sansa was already asleep, something he hadn’t expected. He climbed into bed and curled against Ghost, making sure she was completely covered with the blankets before drifting into his own dreamless sleep.


	4. "Sweet dreams."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa go out to breakfast and run into some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! Me updating four days in a row is a miracle. I am just overflowing with muse for this ship. Please be patient with me if this doesn't continue.
> 
> As I'm writing this I realize just how long this fic is going to be. I absolutely wouldn't be surprised if this thing hit 20 chapters. It's going to be really, really slow burn. This chapter introduces some of the characters you know and love! As always, I appreciate your comments and kudos more than you know. A picture of Sansa's dress (that she wears to breakfast) is hyperlinked in the fic! 
> 
> Come @ me on tumblr! @weasleyrose!

 

Waking up the next morning was much easier. Jon woke to Sansa’s soft snores blowing through Ghost’s fur, her lips turned up in a soft smile. He wanted to memorize everything about the moment—the way her red hair had pulled away from the plait in the night, creating a soft halo around her face, the way her fingers gripped Ghost’s fur gently, the way her eyes danced under her eyelids.

 

There were no nightmares that night. Jon had hardly woken at all, something that hadn’t happened in weeks. Peaceful sleep left him feeling slightly groggy. He needed coffee, and they both needed to eat. They had depleted most of the contents of the refrigerator over the past few days and he wanted to treat her to something special before she went home. He wanted to prove that not everyone in her life was a disappointment. While he was debating whether to let her sleep and pick up breakfast himself or take her out somewhere nice, her eyes fluttered open. It was that moment—Sansa with a sleepy smile on her face and eyes puffy from sleep—that he realized some loves never die. The love he felt for her when they were children had been lying dormant all those years, waiting for him to be ready.

 

He returned her smile, hoping he didn’t look like a hopeful puppy. “Good morning.” It felt too natural, like they were meant to have these little moments forever.

 

“Good morning,” she murmured sleepily. “Have you been up long?”

 

“No.” He pulled at the sheets anxiously. “Would you like to get breakfast? I don’t have anything in the house. There’s a new place that just opened up downtown that I hear has amazing coffee.”

 

It wasn’t a date, but Jon was still nervous about her answering. There was a chance they would run into someone they knew; Winterfell was big but not big enough to hide the Starks.

 

“Yes! I hope they have good pancakes.”  Sansa nudged Ghost off the bed so she could crawl out. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

 

Jon translated that to Sansa time—she always ran later than most—and nodded. “Right. Let me know if you need anything.” He nodded again and left her to her routine. His was simple: he found a nice t-shirt (one that didn’t smell, he thanked the old gods that he had remembered to do laundry) and some jeans. He pulled a warm sweater over his shirt—one glance at his window told him it had snowed last night. Soon enough Winterfell would be covered in ice and he would have to put snow chains on his truck.

 

A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts. Upon opening it he found Sansa ready, hair redone in some sort of twist hair style and makeup on. [She had changed into a red dress and tights](https://cdn.lulus.com/images/product/xlarge/2189682_407342.jpg). Years of knowing her told him that she _never_ went anywhere casually, she felt more powerful when she was dressed up.

 

And gods, she was right. The dress was simple but the effect it had on him wasn’t. “Ready?” She nodded and followed him to the door. Earlier, he had decided to leave Ghost at home; they wouldn’t be gone long and the restaurant had limited seating space. He grabbed his messenger bag and followed Sansa out the door, fully prepared to follow up on his promise of drawing up a plan on what to do about her going home.

 

* * *

 

Downtown Winterfell housed shops, markets, and a pub at the center. The new breakfast place was right in the heart of downtown. Thankfully, Jon found a spot to park so they wouldn’t have to walk through the snow (which had started falling in earnest by the time they arrived). He helped her out of the car, opening the door for her and taking her hand. She had boots on, like every other northerner, but they had little heels on them—little enough where he was confident she wouldn’t fall, but wasn’t confident enough that she wouldn’t slide.

 

Once inside they were blowing in their hands trying desperately to dispel the chill that had set in on them. The hostess guided them to a table right past…

 

No. Oh no. This was _not_ going according to plan.

 

The table in front of theirs housed no other than Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell. The former glanced at him and did a double take. Jon’s heart sank to his feet as Robb rocketed out of his seat.

 

“Jon! Who is this?” Sansa turned at the sound of her brother’s voice and paled. 

 

“Robb!” Jon heard the panic in her voice and longed to reach out to her.

 

“What—what? What is this?” Robb gestured between the two of them. Jon shrugged, turning to Sansa for help.

 

“I asked Jon to pick me up from the airport.” It was the truth, but it didn’t bring much relief.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robb demanded.

 

Jon didn’t know who the question was directed at so he shrugged again. “It was last minute.” Jon said.

 

“When did your flight come in?” Robb looked like he was going to punch something, so Jon suggested they all have a seat. The waitress helped push their tables together and looked happy to leave. Jon pulled Sansa’s chair out for her and Robb made a face.

 

“Darling, how was your flight?” It was the first time Margaery had spoken since they saw each other, and Jon was immensely grateful for the diversion.

 

“It was great—“

 

“Are you two together?” Robb pointed a finger first at Sansa, then at Jon.

 

“No.” Jon didn’t think he imagined the disappointment in her voice when she denied him. That brought him a little bit of hope, enough to go on.

 

“I let Sansa stay at my cottage. She wanted somewhere quiet to stay before she joined you all.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. Jon didn’t like lying to Robb. He was his best friend—they were _family_ —but lying for Sansa was a good cause and he had no doubt the truth would come out eventually.

 

“But you don’t even _like_ each other!” Robb protested.

 

“Robb!” Margaery grabbed his hand and gave him a pointed stare. “That’s none of your business.” Jon sighed softly. Marg was right of course, but that also meant she knew more than she was letting on. That was never good. He had learned long ago never to trust a Tyrell in possession of all of the facts.

 

Robb sulked while they ordered drinks. Jon asked Sansa to order a coffee for him, to which Robb to clucked his tongue.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Sansa was always the one to appease her siblings. Her gift was bringing everyone together, even at the worst of times. It was something she had inherited from her father. “I wanted to—Jon and I were going to figure things out today. I want to come home… Robb,” she took a shuddering breath and reached for Jon’s hand under the table. He took it and gave it a squeeze, encouraging her to continue. “There were things that happened this semester… things that changed me.” At the look on his face—fury and panic—Sansa quickly attempted to defuse him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Jon’s been helping.”

 

Robb turned to Jon and realization colored his features. There was only one reason Jon would be able to help her—he had suffered the same problems. Realization turned to pain, which turned to acceptance. Robb knew Jon was a good person (at least Jon hoped he did) and that he would never try to pull anything with Sansa. They nodded to each other in understanding. Jon gave Sansa’s hand another squeeze and he knew things would be okay.

 

True to character, Robb talked their ear off about the Stark Christmas plans. They ordered together (Jon getting a sausage, eggs, hash browns, toast, and beans, Sansa getting lemon pancakes and bacon) and Robb demanded they both come and stay at the Stark estate from then until Christmas. Sansa heaved a sigh at his words, though Jon knew it was one of relief and not irritation as Robb believed.

 

“C’mon Sans! You’ve been shacking up with this oaf already. Can’t take a few more days?” Jon’s first thought was that there would be an awful lot of wolfdogs in the house. Ghost, Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggydog, Nymeria, and Lady all put together. He knew Sansa would be happy to see her dog again.

 

Jon already spent Christmas with the Starks, and Robb told him that Ned had been asking after him recently and wouldn’t take no for an answer. If they were all together Jon could keep an eye on Sansa. It was the perfect plan—they didn’t even have to do any scheming.  

 

He didn’t realize that he was still holding Sansa’s hand until the coffee was placed in front of him and Sansa led the table through a tasting. They started by cupping their hands over the rim so they could smell it. Sansa asked what they smelled to which Robb answered “coffee” and Margaery “flowers”. Jon tried his hardest to detect anything besides the obvious _coffee_ answer Robb had given. He thought “earth” sounded appropriate. Sansa tossed him an approving smile and Jon’s face lit up. Robb kicked him under the table when Sansa wasn’t looking.

 

After they tasted it Sansa chatted about the origins of the coffee and how different origins had different flavor profiles. Jon listened with rapt attention, nodding through her pauses and asking her questions to encourage her. When the food came Jon knew everything there was to know about coffee from Naath.

 

They devoured their food in record time. Robb and Margaery made a point to make them promise to come home straightaway, only stopping to get their bags. Sansa stuck her tongue out at her brother but Jon could see the relief in her eyes. They wouldn’t have to lie.

* * *

 

Once they returned to the cottage Jon made to apologize. “I didn’t know he would be there Sansa—“

 

“Of course not. My brother has impeccable timing. I know how he is.” Jon nodded in agreement.

 

“Are you still okay with going over there?” For the first time since he’d picked her up she looked like she had a plan.

 

“Yes. I’m excited.” Jon realized he had to get her a better gift than the one he had currently picked out for her. It was a sweater that he had thought would look pretty on her. After everything that had happened, it seemed a stupid and pointless gift.

 

“Let’s get packed then.” Jon told her they should leave by noon to avoid further confrontation. She agreed and they went to their rooms to gather their things. It took longer for him to pack—he had to start fresh _and_ pack all of Ghosts things. When he was finished he found Sansa playing fetch with Ghost. It warmed his heart to see the way Sansa’s eyes lit up when Ghost would attack her with kisses. Ghost did a lap around the kitchen and came to rest at his feet, staring up at him expectantly.

 

“Let’s go for a ride, buddy!”

 

* * *

 

The ride to the Stark estate passed by quicker than he had anticipated. In no time they were following the winding drive that led to the front doors. The house was enormous. A Stark addition to the village when living in the castle was no longer sustainable. His family—his father’s family—had a similar estate near Dragonstone. His aunt Dany lived there briefly when he was growing up.

 

It looked nothing like the one in front of him. No, the Stark estate was all grey and stone—cold and hard just like the North. The pointed spires always reminded him of the dark fairytales he and Robb had begged Old Nan, the Stark’s nanny, to tell them when they were younger. Sansa looked apprehensive as she opened her door, like the ground would swallow her whole. “Sansa.” He murmured. “It’ll be fine. Just relax.” It was easier said than done, that was clear.

 

Catelyn arrived at the front door as Jon was unloading his truck. Ghost wasted no time getting out of the cold, running to greet his brothers and sisters. Sansa ran up to her mother and pulled her into a hug, one that Catelyn returned immediately. Jon missed that feeling. His mum was one of the warmest Northerners he had ever met. In the last letter she wrote him she joked that was the reason her father had fallen in love with her.

 

Jon nodded to Catelyn as he approached with their bags. She pulled him into a hug, which he returned—awkwardly reaching around the bags to do so. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

 

“Robb told us that you two had been spending time together which explains why you haven’t been around here.” Catelyn shot him a knowing look and ushered them inside.

 

“Mum, Jon must be starving! He hasn’t eaten in…” She glanced at her phone and back at him. “Three hours!” Jon was thankful for the diversion, even with the jest. Catelyn wasn’t going to let them get off that easily, even with her motherly instincts working against her.

 

“You’ll sleep in separate rooms. Jon will have the spare room _next_ to yours.” It would be easier if they played coy and didn’t correct anyone about the nature of their relationship. _And,_ a dark part of his mind whispered, _you could flirt more openly._ He wouldn’t. It wasn’t honorable.

 

Jon was helping Sansa with her suitcase in the hall outside of their rooms when he felt something pounce on him from behind. “Gotcha! What did they teach you in the military again?”

 

He chuckled and gripped Arya’s dangling feet so she wouldn’t fall. “Arya Stark, master of stealth. How’ve you been little wolf? Still in school I hope?”

 

Arya was studying law, like Jon and Robb, but hoped to be part of the special ops government program. She hated being in the classroom but didn’t mind the subject matter and last he heard she was doing well in her mock trials.

 

Gendry tugged at a strand of Arya’s hair and came around to shake Jon’s hand. “She is, though she’s causing trouble, as usual.”

 

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Sansa crossed her arms mockingly. Gendry took pity on her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, Arya stuck her tongue out at her sister.

 

“How’s married life?” Jon set Arya down gently and turned to face her properly. “Still using your ninja skills on him?”

 

“Always, though most of it is just flexibility related now—“

 

“ _Gross!_ ” Sansa protested, throwing her hands over her ears.

 

“What? From what I hear you and tall, dark, and broody over here are doing the two person tango nowadays.”

 

“ _Arya,_ ” Jon protested weakly.

 

“What? You aren’t fucking? Then why’s he looking at you like _that?_ ” She waved her hands around Jon’s face as if it would suddenly betray his love for Sansa.

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and shoved past her sister so she could tug Jon towards her room. “C’mon, you can help me unpack.”

 

“See!” Arya threw her fist in the air triumphantly. “You two are idiots.”

 

Gendry tried to look serious but Jon could see the mirth in his eyes as he tugged Arya down the stairs. “Leave them to it, Arya. Let’s go get some cake.”

 

Sansa blew her hair out of her face and threw her suitcase on the bed. Her room is exactly how he remembered from the few glances during his childhood. Everything was pink. It wasn’t garish, it was just _bright._ The pink wasn’t horrible, it reminded him of the ballerinas his mum had taken him to see when he was younger. Graceful. It aged well, not seeming juvenile.

 

Ghost had found them, followed quickly by Lady. She strolled in, true to her namesake, with all of the grace and elegance he would expect from her. She really _was_ the best behaved of the bunch. It was no surprise, as it was Sansa who had trained her.

 

Lady curled up in Sansa’s bed and accepted all of the love Sansa would give her. Ghost sat moodily next to Jon, who had taken up residence in the desk chair. “What are we going to do with Robb?”

 

“Kill him.” Sansa deadpanned, tossing her clothes into piles. “Grey Wind is better off without him.”

 

He laughed, pulling a hand through his hair. “I don’t think we can do that.”

 

She grumbled something about ‘the bloody idiot acting like the relationship police’ and Jon blushed. “You should unpack too, I suppose. I can’t hog you in here forever.”

 

Jon nodded and gave her one last look before grabbing his bag and heading to the room next door.

 

* * *

 

An hour later they were dressed for dinner. Everyone was present; Bran, Rickon, Arya and Gendry, Ned, Catelyn, Robb and Margaery, and of course himself and Sansa. They started out with Ned saying a silent thank you to the Old Gods as he did before every meal they had together.

 

It was wonderful food. Catelyn had prepared fish and chips from scrap. It was a Stark tradition that the first meal of Christmas be a casual one, followed by fancy foods on the day of. Christmas was still a week out, which meant Robb had days of feasts prepared. If it were any other family, Jon would be apprehensive. These were his people, though. He’d been accepted into the pack a long time ago.

 

They received no awkward questions at dinner. Jon suspected that Ned was behind that—he didn’t miss the glances from Ned during dinner. Thankfully, he wasn’t approached after dinner either. Sansa was too excited over the lemon cakes, and her smile was infectious. Soon everyone was laughing and smiling in high spirits.

 

They hung around for an hour after dessert, playing cards and drinking together. Rickon was allowed one single glass of wine but Jon caught Robb giving him a shot in the kitchen. Jon let out a bark of laughter and nodded towards the bottle. Robb must’ve caught his drift, he poured them a shot each.

 

When the party died down Sansa was the first to excuse herself. Jon twisted and turned in his chair until Arya couldn’t take it anymore. “Just go!” He heard her murmur “idiots” to Gendry as he was leaving.

 

Sansa’s door was open but he knocked softly anyways. “Sansa.” The sight in front of him was truly one to behold. Not only was she burrowed into her blankets so far he could only see her hair (which formed a red halo on her pillow), but she was also flanked by Ghost and Lady. She looked every inch a queen, protected by her valiant wolves.

 

He brushed her hair back from her face and paused. In that moment, her breathing deep and face serene, he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss her forehead. He stopped himself, instead turning off her bedside lamp with a whispered: “Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Much love!! xx Ash


	5. "I like your laugh."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks go shopping! Christmas party #1 happens! Fluff! Angst!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick update from me. Who am I? This chapter is the longest to date, nearly 4.5k words. So much happens and I couldn't find a natural divide. There will be 6 nights of Christmas parties but I'm not sure yet if I will cover all of them. 
> 
> This is TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. Proceed at your own risk. Some angst thrown in at the end for Effect™. You guys should know by now that I LOVE hyperlinking visuals, so watch out for Jon's glasses and Sansa's dress! 
> 
> This is the first time I've switched POV in a chapter but I wanted you guys to get both. 
> 
> As always, thank you for the kind reviews and the kudos. You guys are my lifeblood! Thank you to those who have reached out on tumblr (@weasleyrose) in support of this fic! I love you guys!

Jon woke suddenly, arms trembling and covered in sweat. He blinked at the dim light that was coming from the cracked door next to his bed. “What—“

Someone stepped into his room and shut the door softly. Ghost lifted his head lazily and, upon assessing no threat, resumed his quiet slumber. Jon still wasn’t sure who had come into his room until he  _ smelled  _ her. That lemon floral scent she carried with her everywhere.

“Sansa?” He whispered.

It was still late, that much was evident by the lack of light in his room. Sansa sat at the edge of his bed gingerly, hands reaching out for his in the dark. “Jon…”

He pulled her to his chest without a second thought. When she had fallen asleep on her own he had thought she would be okay without him. It was clear by the wetness on her face she had had another nightmare. He wished he had the foresight to sleep with a shirt on.

Her body shook against his, wracked with silent sobs. It didn’t bother him in the least. Dating Ygritte for three years had taught him how to deal with women. Not that Ygritte had been emotional. She was the opposite—he had always been the emotional one on their many confrontations. Ygritte had taught him things, though, that were helpful down the line.

He murmured a string of comforting words into her hair. With each minute her breathing slowed, and before he knew it she was dozing off with her head resting on his chest. At that moment, he knew that there was nothing he  _ wouldn’t  _ do for her to keep her safe. It shocked him how fierce his emotions were after three days of sharing a bed. He understood the need to feel secure. There was nothing he had wanted more when he was discharged than to crawl into his mum’s lap and stay there forever. His mum had passed away years before and he had no one--save for the Starks. Sansa had a whole army of people who wanted to protect and love her. He wanted to shake her awake and assure her that he wouldn’t leave her like his family had left him, but those insecurities were his and his alone.

So he did what he knew to do. He pulled her tighter to his chest and wrapped them in the blankets. They would deal with everything in the morning when their heads were clearer and her eyes were dry. For now, they both needed to sleep.

* * *

 

Jon awoke to an empty bed, light shining bright in his eyes. The spot next to him was warm, Sansa had to have just left. He rolled over, reaching for his [glasses](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/6e/d3/1a/6ed31a28e1c360663c64529c3c8c8639--lord-snow-hello-sweetie.jpg) on the side table, when he felt something crumple under his body. Rolling back, he pulled a piece of paper out from under him. It was written in neat, looping script he assumed was Sansa’s.

_ Mum and dad are getting breakfast. I’ll come get you when they get back. _

Underneath she had written:

_ Thank you.  _

He stared at the note for a few minutes, stomach turning and head pounding. The night before had been the first time they had slept so  _ intimately.  _ She was in his bones—he could still feel the way her head had weighed against his chest, rising and falling with every breath.

Jon didn’t have time to reminisce for long—a loud  _ bang  _ announced the arrival of Arya, who pushed into the room without a second glance.

“Oi! I could’ve been naked!” Jon protested. He tossed a pillow at her for effect.

“Sansa’s not here?” Arya peered over him like Sansa would magically appear from under the bed.

“No. Why would she be?” Jon did he best to sound nonchalant. It wasn’t one of his talents.

Arya cocked and eyebrow. “Because I saw her come in here last night. Gendry and I had just—“

“Oh no, no. I don’t want to hear about—“

“I was  _ going  _ to say we had just snuck down to eat some of Robb’s gingerbread cookies, cum for brains. How did this all start? When we were last together she didn’t even  _ like  _ you, though we all know how you’ve always felt about  _ her—“ _

Arya’s frankness stirred something in him. He wanted to be honest with her but it wasn’t his story to tell.  “I—Sansa—“

“Just tell me. Are you two dating?” She looked like she already knew the answer.

“No.” The pain in Jon’s voice softened Arya’s features. The teasing was all well and good, but Arya knew Jon had a soft heart underneath the broody exterior.

“Is she stringing you along?” Jon shook his head and Arya nodded.

“Do you—well— _ care  _ about her. Like… you  _ know. _ ” Arya stumbling over her words made him laugh. It was a stark contrast to how she’d acted earlier.

“You know the answer to that.” He rubbed his beard wearily. “But she’s… working through some things right now. I’m not going to take advantage of that. I know what it’s like.”

“Don’t sit on it forever, Snow. The way she looks at you—“ she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else in the world than in his room, “—I’ve never seen Sansa look like that before. She looks happy. She finally looks  _ content _ .” Jon had never heard Arya sound so wise. He suspected part of it was Gendry.

“Thanks Arya.” She nodded and left just as quickly as she’d come.  __

* * *

 

Sansa had just finished making coffee for herself and Jon when she heard a loud  _ thud  _ from upstairs. It was probably Arya, she had reasoned, her sister often had no concept of volume. It was worth exploring, in any case. She still needed to wake Jon up for breakfast. Her ears perked up as she climbed the stairs, careful to not make too much noise lest Arya be in a rage. It was too early for debates.

_ “—are you two dating? _ ” Dread filled her stomach. She had stumbled on something she shouldn’t have. Jon’s reply was muffled followed by Arya’s quick retort. Like Sansa would  _ ever  _ string anyone along. She was the one who was always  _ strung  _ along.

The next question had her head spinning. Jon’s response shocked her. “ _ You know the answer to that. _ ” What did that mean? What was it that Arya knew? And when had her sister become so perceptive? Gendry must really be having an effect on her.

“ _ The way she looks at you… _ ” How did she look at Jon? He was a soft place to land, that’s why she had gone to him. Was there something more? The tenderness he had shown her in the past few days had made her heart hurt. There was something about him that made her want to crawl inside him and never come out. Something about him screamed  _ home. Content, _ Arya had said. That seemed right to her. Content was something she had become unfamiliar with the past few years. Everything in her life had been dictated by someone else. First it was Joff, then it was Harry, and then Joff again. Jon didn’t want to control her, he wanted to… help her? Was that all it was?

She climbed the stairs two at a time and hid in her room until she heard Arya thunder down the stairs. It was a lot to process. For so long the concept of a happy ending had been foreign to her. Was that still an option? She pushed it to the back of her mind and went to get Jon.

It seemed that she wouldn’t have to go far. He was leaning against the wall between their rooms when she came out. It was an impressive look—him leaning against the wall so casually, wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans. When he turned she saw he was sporting his glasses. It was the most familiar part of Jon, something she had missed the past few days. He had switched to contacts when he had joined the military.

Something about the way he looked at her made her feel special. It had been a long time since someone else made her feel anything but stupid. It scared her a little—she  _ wouldn’t  _ go back to being the person who needed to rely on another for their happiness, not after Joff. But this was  _ Jon,  _ not Joff.

“Good morning.” She said.

“Good morning.” He started toward the stairs. “Sleep well?”  

It was a casual question but it was loaded with meaning. She was certain he wasn’t trying to be coy—he was much too serious for that. “Yes.”

Robb threw open his door and the tension was shattered. “Good morning love birds.”

Margaery wandered out after him and slapped his head. “Leave them alone.” She gave them a knowing smile and said good morning to each of them in turn. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Sansa swore she heard Jon mutter something like  _ does everyone bloody know?  _ before following Robb and Margaery down the stairs. Sansa’s cheeks heated and she was glad that everyone was in front of her.

“I made us some coffee Jon—the one I told you about the other day. From Braavos.” Robb barked out a laugh and Margaery tossed him a look.

Robb’s teasing was inconsequential compared to the look that Jon gave her. One that was both tender and fierce. She busied herself with the French press so she didn’t have to think about it. They went through another coffee tasting, cupping their hands over the rim and describing the smell. Jon was a good sport—Sansa knew he didn’t have a clue what he was doing—and she loved him for it. The way he screwed up his face when he was trying to find a word to describe what they were smelling was so endearing it made her heart melt. After a minute he declared that it smelled like “horse shit” and she dissolved into giggles. It was  _ so  _ Jon to say something so frank she couldn’t help but laugh. Soon enough he was laughing with her—his eyes lighting up in that delightful way they did when he was happy. Robb started making as much noise at he could, pulling down plates and glasses from the cabinets and slamming them on the counter, which only made them laugh harder.

Sansa felt like she was in one of those romance novels she had read as a child when he leaned towards her and whispered “I like your laugh.” so low that she was the only one who could hear it. Her neck flushed a brilliant pink at that. She had to focus on breathing through her nose and  _ not  _ fainting on the spot. When had things changed? When had this become normal? It was all so sudden—the butterflies, the pounding in her chest, the breathlessness—she wasn’t prepared for it. It  _ so  _ wasn’t her plan.

She smiled anyway because hell, if he liked her laugh she would do it more often. In fact, she had laughed more in the last three days than she had in years. Since she met Joff, at least.

“Can you guys keep it in your pants until breakfast is over at  _ least?  _ I’m going to lose my appetite.” Arya moaned from her position atop the counter.

“When have you  _ ever  _ lost your appetite?” Sansa shot back. “And when did you even get here?”

That earned her a smirk from Arya and a sympathetic face from Gendry, who was standing between his wife’s legs. “We’ve been here for ten minutes.”

Sansa was saved from having to reply by the arrival of Ned and Catelyn, arms full of goodies.

“Are those muffins?” Sansa’s stomach growled so loud that it startled Jon.

“Someone’s hungry.” He moved to help Catelyn with the bags who threw a suspicious glance at Sansa.

“Everyone get plates. We’re going to eat down here.” The servant’s quarters were old fashioned, left over from another era. The kitchen opened into an eating area that had a big enough table to seat everyone. Bran wheeled in just as everyone was helping unpack the food onto the table.

“Did you save me a bran muffin?” Everyone groaned at his joke and Sansa lept up to help him park the wheelchair near the orange juice.

Breakfast was always a noisy affair. They all argued about where everyone should sit. Robb wanted to sit next to Jon—Sansa suspected this was to keep her away from him—but Margaery protested that  _ surely  _ he wouldn’t want to give up his seat next to her. Arya slammed her knife on the table when Rickon strolled in (straight out of bed) and sat in Gendry’s seat. Rickon threw a fit, saying he’d rather eat in his room  _ anyway.  _ Sansa ignored all of them and took her seat next to Jon quietly.

“Would you pass me the poppy seed muffins, please?” Jon nodded and grabbed a pumpkin one for himself. There was enough food to feed twice their numbers—her parents had bought bagels, muffins, fruit, sausages, sweet bread, and four types of juice. Jon put one of everything on his plate as Sansa nibbled on her muffin.

“What are we doing today?” Arya asked.

Robb shot her a glance and shook his head. “We’ve talked about this—today we are all going shopping, and then we will start the twelve days of Christmas party tonight. It’s late this year because of  _ some people, _ ” he shot Sansa and Jon a dark look each, “so we’ll have to combine some themes. Six days ‘till Christmas means two themes each night—“

“Wow! I didn’t know you could do math!” Arya quipped.

“—that means a Partridge in a Pear Tree  _ and  _ Two Turtle Doves.” He continued, ignoring Arya. “So we’ll have pear cocktails and turtle pies. The pies have already been made by Hot Pie, but we’ll have to pick things up for the cocktails today. Everyone’s invited already. The party starts at eight.”

Sansa felt festive for the first time in years. Christmas used to be her favorite holiday, but after she’d started dating Joff things had changed. He never wanted her to go home over Christmas. Robb had started the themed parties years ago, before Joff, when he had complained that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day needed hyping up to get into the spirit properly.

“Who is dressing up as Santa this year?” Sansa asked.

“Jon pulled the straw for that one. I get to be the elf.” Bran answered. “Though Robb nearly cried when he realized that someone else was going to be Santa. We still need a Mrs. Clause though.” The pointed stare he directed at her made her squirm. Bran was in on it too? It made sense, he was the most perceptive Stark sibling.

She glanced at Jon who looked suspiciously red as he studied his sausage. “I’m not wearing a wig. I’ll pass.” The Christmas parties often got out of hand once Ned and Catelyn retired to bed. The estate was large enough so they wouldn’t be disturbed by noise, which meant that the music often lasted through the night.

“Suit yourself.” There was a twinkle in Bran’s eye that Sansa didn’t appreciate.

* * *

 

After breakfast they agreed to leave for shopping around two. Downtown Winterfell was the perfect place to pick out gifts and outfits for the party. Sansa wanted to buy something meaningful for Jon, but she hadn’t a clue what he would want. It had to be something personal, especially after all he had done for her the past few days. Despite the time they had spent together, she still knew little about his interests. Fortunately, they still had time to talk before Christmas and Sansa had no problem with last minute shopping.

The Starks decided to split up. Robb took the van, which they needed for Bran’s wheelchair, and Jon offered to take his pickup. Gendry and Arya decided to go with Jon, as did Sansa. Arya called shotgun—much to Gendry’s protests—and Sansa rolled her eyes.

Jon flipped through the radio until he landed on a Christmas station. Sansa hummed  _ jingle bells  _ under her breath as they made their way downtown. It was harder to find a spot than it was yesterday, it seemed as though everyone was last minute shopping, so Jon dropped them off at the first store. It was one of Sansa’s favorites—it had trinkets and home decorations, as well as books and some accessories. She was wrapping an emerald scarf around her neck when she saw Jon wander in.

“Sansa,” He made his way over to her, dodging tables of Christmas ornaments, and glanced around. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

“It’s my favorite store.” She nodded to the bookshelves. “I used to come here to buy romance novels.” Her cheeks colored slightly. “Back when… back when things were simpler.”  _ Back when love was simpler _ , was what she had wanted to say. She wouldn’t burden him with that, though. Not now.

He nodded sagely and disappeared to the bookshelves. Sansa kept trying on scarves, trying to find one that would match her Christmas outfit. When she had finally found the perfect one, she wandered through the shelves to find Jon. He was leaning against a bookshelf reading what appeared to be a penny dreadful.

“Is it any good?” Sansa attempted the read the title as he shoved it back on the shelf, cheeks pink.

“Erm—“

“Jon Snow reading a romance novel? I never thought I’d see the day.” She teased. He looked sheepish.

“It was my mum’s favorite book.” That tore the smile from her face. He rubbed his beard anxiously. “I—you remind me of her sometimes. She was an incredibly strong woman.”

“I’m not—“

“Yes. You are.” His tone carried a note of finality that gave her goosebumps. The smile returned to his face almost instantly—this time catlike, eager. He knew that he had won. “Ready to move on?”

She nodded, holding up the scarf. “I just have to buy this. Give me a minute.” After completing her purchase, they moved along to the next store. It was a small boutique. It was elegant and expensive. It was the perfect place to pick out a dress for the party.

Jon didn’t protest or say he would go to another store, he just asked if she’d like for him to hold her bag and took a seat by the dressing rooms. It was nice of him to stay, she just wished that she could stop waiting for the ball to drop—for him to snap at her for taking too long. It wasn’t fair to him, Jon wouldn’t do that, but she felt it nonetheless.

She wound through the racks, looking for something green or red. It was an unspoken rule that everyone had to be  _ on theme,  _ as Robb called it. Both colors looked good on her, so she wasn’t upset about it. She pulled two dresses—both velvet—and headed to the dressing rooms. The red dress had an odd cut that highlighted her collarbones. When she stepped out to show Jon she wished she had a camera to capture his reaction. He shifted in his seat and his eyes bulged. [She smiled winningly and bought the dress without trying on the other](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1yiwHJXXXXXX4XpXXq6xXFXXXU/Elegant-Women-Formal-Gown-Velvet-Mermaid-Long-Sleeves-Beaded-Red-Evening-Long-Dress-2015-Latest-Design.jpg).

By the time they were ready to leave she wasn’t any closer to getting her Christmas shopping done. She asked Jon if he would drive her down tomorrow to try again and he had said yes before she even finished asking. Arya had rolled her eyes and Gendry had hid his laughter by coughing.

* * *

 

The party preparations were well underway when they got home. Sansa excused herself—not realizing it was half six already—to go get ready. For the first time in years her appearance didn’t matter. There wasn’t a Joff to berate her for not looking her best. After years of looking good to please someone else, it was nice to look good for herself.

By the time eight rolled around Jon was already downstairs, fully Santa-ed up. He made the costume  _ handsome.  _ It was old and stuffy, the Starks had owned it for years. When they were children Ned would wear it. It rotated after that, Jon, Rickon, Bran, and Robb shared Santa duties. He had stuffed a pillow under the jacket to give him the appearance of being  _ jolly,  _ but he couldn’t hide the way his muscles stood out against the arms of the coat.

When he saw her descend the stairs in her dress she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. His gaze was so intense that  Arya turned to see what he was looking at.

“C’mon  _ Santa,  _ stop staring and get to work.” Santa’s job was to greet the guests and take pictures in front of a backdrop they had rented for the occasion. She volunteered to be the first picture after Bran had finished setting up the camera—the elf’s job. Jon wound an arm around her and she smiled dazzlingly into the camera. Arya rolled her eyes again but said nothing.

The guests started to arrive in droves. The Greyjoys came first, followed by the Umbers and Karstarks. The Tully family was in attendance too, having arrived at the estate earlier in the day. She greeted them all in turn before excusing herself to find the drinks.

By the time the party was in full swing there were close to a hundred people in the ballroom. Christmas music was blasting from two speakers on opposite ends of the room, which she knew would soon turn into dance music. It was so  _ Robb  _ to play Jingle Bells at full blast, but nobody seemed to mind.

The next time she saw Jon, after mingling with the crowd, he had ditched his Santa costume in exchange for a suit. She had to admit that he looked even  _ lovelier  _ when he was dressed up. Something about him in black made her stomach do flip flops.

A jazz tune was playing through the speakers, the first of the dance music (a romantic song that she suspected Margaery was behind). Jon was shoved against the wall, hands in his pockets, with a soft smile on his face. “What are you doing here all by yourself?” Sansa leaned next to him, arms hugging her chest.

“I don’t dance.” Sansa laughed at that.

“Anyone can dance.” Jon gave her a pained look. “C’mon you old Scrooge.” She held her hand out and she thought for a minute he would turn her down.

“Alright.” He nodded, allowing her to lead him on the dancefloor. The song changed to  _ Until the Real Thing Comes Along _ and she placed his hips on her waist. He looked like he might faint, which made her giggle.

It was a slow melody—one meant for swaying. She placed her hands on his shoulders and swung her hips gently. He stepped awkwardly with her, face screwed up in concentration. An idea struck her suddenly, she leaned in and hummed the melody to him. That seemed to relax him enough to fall into a pattern.

She desperately hoped he couldn’t read the look on her face because she was  _ sure  _ it was embarrassing. His face was a blank mask which made her anxious. Was dancing with her really that bad? What if he wanted her to leave him alone? What if Arya was wrong? As if sensing her anxiety, he slipped a hand around to the small of her back and pulled her closer. She took the opportunity to slip her arms around his neck. They were so close she could smell the eggnog on his breath.

_ With all the words, dear, at my command _

_ I just can't make you understand _

_ I'll always love you baby _

_ Come what may _

_ My heart is yours _

_ What more can I say? _

“Jon—“ One of his hands was rubbing circles on her back, his other kept her steady. It was dizzying.

“Hmm?” She looked into his eyes, hoping he could see what she wanted to say.

“Nothing.” The song ended, switching to another Billie Holliday song. She  _ knew _ Margaery was in control of the music.  _ If You Were Mine  _ was one of her favorites.

“I know this song.” He murmured. “If you were mine, I could be a ruler of kings... and if you were mine, I could do such wonderful things.” His voice was lovely, low and slightly off-key. It didn’t matter, her heart was nearly beating out of her chest already. The singing helped him with the dancing—it seemed to help him catch the melody.

The song ended and the spell was broken. She pulled away reluctantly, caught between the desire to dance forever and to get as far away from him as possible. His face was guarded and slightly guilty. “I need some air.” She breathed, giving him one last glance before pushing through the crowd.

It was cold out, colder than it had been yesterday. She found she wasn’t alone—Arya was leaning against the wall, arms folded. “What are you doing out here?” Sansa asked.

“It was too hot in there and…” A guilty look flashed across her face. “I—erm—I’m pregnant.” Sansa’s jaw dropped at that. Her first emotion was envy, which she shoved down angrily.

“Congratulations Arya.” She hoped she didn’t sound bitter. “When did you find out?”

“Tonight.” Arya looked terrified. “What are you doing out here?”

She wanted to say she was getting space, but she knew that Arya already  _ knew  _ that. “It was hot.”

“He won’t hurt you, you know. Not like that  _ prick  _ did.” Sansa already  _ knew  _ that. “You deserve to be happy, Sansa.”

The bruises hadn’t faded from her arms and her chest yet. That’s why she had chosen a long sleeve dress. The emotions were still raw, and though she knew she deserved better, part of her hadn’t adjusted to her freedom. Freedom to have her heart broken again.

“Jon—he  _ likes  _ you. He’s  _ always  _ liked you, even when you were mean to him. No matter what you said to him he always looked like he would die for you if you asked.” Arya reached out and placed a hand on Sansa’s shoulder—a rare show of affection. “Don’t pass it up this time.”

Sansa nodded, feeling sorry for taking the moment away from Arya. “You should be with Gendry.” Arya smiled then, nodding happily.

“I know you Sansa. Don’t run from this.” She gave her one last look before heading back to the party.

Running was what she was best at. 

  
  



	6. "Have fun."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa decides to follow her dreams. Arya is pregnant! Jon receives advice. Robb pops the question!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this chapter. I wrote it two different ways before settling on this one. It's short, but it's important. I know a lot of you wanted this fic to speed up but I had to put the brakes on. Sansa wouldn't fall in love with Jon in just three days. In this fic, Jon has always loved Sansa (which is why his feelings are so easy and natural). Sansa is feeling things because she's become accustomed to men treating her like dirt. I want her to realize her feelings are real and for Jon alone before anything happens. 
> 
> So yes, short chapter that I'm not super happy with. It'll be worth it in the end! 
> 
> As per usual @weasleyrose on tumblr.

Jon knew that Sansa Stark would be the death of him. He was sure that in the end, she would come to him like an angel of death and that would be it. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for her, and that scared him. That level of commitment—of _undying_ love—was something that only came along once. It’s possible to fall in and out of love, to gain love and lose love. Jon felt as though he had never stopped loving her, not for a moment, and that his love for her had compounded over time when he wasn’t paying attention. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

 

So when he held her in his arms, her hands curled around his neck, he had done the most irrational thing he could think of. He’d started singing to her. It surprised him just how easy it was to _be_ with her in that moment. Their bodies moved together, closer and closer with each step. That _damned_ red dress clinging to her hips like a desperate lover. He had _whimpered_ when she had come downstairs looking a goddess and a half. When she had pulled him on the dance floor he was worried he would start salivating like a mad dog.

 

And then it was over, just as quickly as it had started. He had bribed Margaery more gold dragons than he would care to admit to play Sansa’s two favorite Billie Holliday songs. At first, he’d just planned on watching her face light up when she realized what was happening. It wasn’t his plan to have her on the dance floor. The closer she got the more reason escaped him.  

 

And then she was gone and he knew she wouldn’t be coming to him that night. He had tried to hide the disappointment when he saw her say her good nights without a glance in his direction. There was something about her body pressed against his that induced sleep like no pill ever could.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he woke up with a pervasive feeling of emptiness. Ghost seemed to sense his sadness, leaping up on the bed and curling against his side. He couldn’t stay in bed, not when he felt like absolute _shit._

 

He knew from experience that Robb and Margaery would still be in bed. The two of them didn’t party _casually._ What he didn’t expect was to be alone with the one person who had occupied his thoughts nonstop since he woke up. “Sansa.”

 

She looked guilty, which made Jon feel uneasy. “Jon! Good morning.”

 

He nodded and went for the pantry, hoping to find some leftovers from breakfast yesterday. “What are you doing up so early?”

 

She was silent for so long he had thought she left until she heaved a sigh. “I booked a ticket to Braavos.”

 

He pulled back from the pantry and turned to face her. “For how long?” The sadness in his voice must’ve shown despite his desperate attempt to hide it.

 

“Nine months.” She shook her head at his worried look. “Arya… it’s not really for me to tell.”

 

But Arya had already come to him at the party last night, after Sansa had gone to bed. She had told him that he was going to be a Godfather and that he had to get things moving with Sansa so her kid wouldn’t be lonely. “She told me already.”

 

Sansa shifted from foot to foot. “I can’t stay here. Mum and dad will understand and I…” The look on her face was haunted, he knew the feeling all too well. “I want to get started on the rest of my life.”

 

A life that didn’t involve him. Jon didn’t know why he was surprised, or why he had expected anything different. Bitterness seeped through him like poison. He wished that her future involved him. The past few days had been a dream, one that he needed to snap out of.

 

“When do you leave?”

 

“Day after Christmas.” He wanted to hold her, to kiss her just _once._ He wanted to tell her not to go, or to bring him with her, but he wasn’t that selfish. Love was a selfless act, and he knew that she would need it in the coming months.

 

“Have fun.” There was a note of finality in his tone that made him feel panicky. It seemed as though Sansa had other ideas.

 

“Jon. I want—I want to give you something to remember me by.” She looked like determined as she strode towards him.

 

And then her lips were on his, the lightest of touches. He didn’t care to be selfless then, as he pulled her closer with an aggression he hadn’t previously known existed. The kiss was desperate; his lips tugged at hers and when she obliged, parting them to deepen the kiss he let out a growl. She gasped but leaned in further, resting her hands on the countertop behind him.

 

His lips wound their way down her neck, stopping to suck behind her ear before he placed a gentle kiss on her collarbone. “Why?” He whispered. “Why now?”

 

“You know why.” And then she was pulling away, shattering the moment into a thousand pieces. _You know why_ swirled through his head, and then he was alone.

* * *

 

The parties all blurred together, all with Jon giving Sansa a wide birth. He didn’t want her to know just _how_ tortured her lips had made him. It was all he could think about, that and _you know why._ Arya was starting to get annoyed with his ‘return to brooding’ as she called it.

 

“Why don’t you just tell her you don’t want her to go?”

 

He had almost replied with _you know why_ but that sounded bitter. He wasn’t bitter, just sad. “Because I want her to be happy.” _Because I love her._

* * *

 

Loving things and setting them free came to mind when the day came and she was all packed. They were all gathered in the entrance hall. Catelyn and Ned were both doing their best to look happy and positive but Jon knew them well enough to see the cracks. Nearly everyone had been surprised that Sansa was going, except for Jon.

 

Sansa gave her siblings hugs and then turned to Jon. He tried his best to look happy for her, but he felt a rock in his stomach that he knew wouldn’t abate until she was home again. They hugged quickly and she was gone.

 

* * *

 

He took his time gathering his things before heading back to the cottage. The Starks wanted him to stay at the estate through New Years, but he couldn’t possibly. Not with Sansa’s ghost clinging to every room. Not with the memory of their last meeting in the kitchen still haunting him every night.

 

No, he would go home and try to resume his normal life. He would throw himself into work so he didn’t think about _you know why_ with every lull in his life. Distractions would fill his moments until he saw her again.

 

She wasn’t even his, not even close. Sansa was untouchable, unreachable, and unlovable. Not unlovable in the way that she could never be loved, quite the opposite. Unlovable in the way that she wouldn’t let people love her. He didn’t know which was worse.

 

Robb tried to pull him out every Friday. Margaery offered to set him up on dates with some of her old school friends. Arya told him he needed to get over himself. Even Sam was willing to help if it meant Jon would stop moping.

 

* * *

The only person who seemed to understand him was Gendry. He and Gendry had never been particularly close before, though they had seen enough of each other growing up. It was mid-January the first time Gendry had showed up at Jon’s house with a six pack and some sandwiches and told him that he refused to let his child’s Godfather die cold and alone because of a Stark girl.  “You know, Arya ignored me for six months after I went on my first date?” He had said, a knowing look on his face.

 

Jon hadn’t known that, so he shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

 

“My point is, Stark girls are tricky. They require a _lot_ of dedication. Sansa will come home eventually, and she’ll need someone around when she does.”

 

Jon supposed Gendry was right, that patience was the only option he had. He had known that she would leave eventually. She was pursuing her dream, and he would never _ever_ be upset with her for that. He had just thought that things would be different.

 

* * *

 

Days turned into months and Arya got crankier and crankier.  Jon wished that Sansa would come home simply so Arya would have someone else to target. There was always something, and since he was Godfather, she expected him to be Gendry’s assistant. Not that he would complain too much (or too loudly) because he really _was_ excited for the baby, it was just that being woken up in the middle of the night because “Gendry is out of town on business and I need pickles _right now!”_ wasn’t exactly how he had expected the nine months to go.

 

Arya told him in June that Sansa was in Myr and would be in Lys by July. Her plan was to be home by September fourth so she was in time for the baby. Jon didn’t know if he could stand another month without her, but he put on a brave face and tried to be happy for her. He started having dinner with the Starks every Sunday. Arya said she wanted the baby to have her family around at least once a week, so they started calling it a tradition.

 

Robb reached out to him shortly after the dinners started and asked him for help with the proposal. He said that Margaery was started to get impatient, and with Sansa’s departure he didn’t have any ‘inside sources’ to help him out. Jon had laughed at that, but turned serious upon seeing how desperate Robb was. “She isn’t sleeping with me anymore. Not _sex_ but _sleeping._ I could handle it if she was icing me out, but she refuses to come to bed at night. It’s torture.”

 

Jon knew that Robb had planned on proposing months ago but wanted Sansa to be around when he did so. First she was in King’s Landing, and then she had gone away. They hadn’t gotten their timing right. Robb declared that she would just have to find out about it through social media like everyone else.

 

The big proposal took place the last week of August at Sunday dinner. Grey Wind held the ring on his collar and bounded up to Margaery at Robb’s command. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed the cameras all pointed at her, waiting to film her reaction. “About bloody time!” She had declared, sliding the ring onto her finger. Robb looked pleased from his position by her side.

 

Jon spent the rest of the meal thinking about how much Sansa loved weddings, and how the proposal would have been perfect for his own. He tried not to think about those two thoughts together, because the thought of Sansa striding down the aisle in a white dress _towards_ him made his stomach do somersaults. Arya kept shooting him dark looks and finally declared that he better lighten up before she ‘popped’ so her baby didn’t have such a sullen face to mock.

 

Sansa was due home in a week, and he had to have a plan by then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be "I'll drive you to the hospital." If you hadn't noticed, Jon is saying all of the "I love you's" from the prompt list... Who will be the one to say "I love you" for real? Jon and Sansa will reunite in the next chapter!


	7. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa comes home. Arya gives birth. Fluff! Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad about the chapter I gave you guys earlier that I wrote this one. Please excuse the fluff here--it's a little excessive. The ring cliche is bad, I know! I just feel like there would still be some magic in this universe, even a thousand years later. 
> 
> I didn't proof read this, fair warning. I will go back and re-read it once I post it. I just wanted to get it out to you ASAP. 
> 
> Much love to you all. As always @weasleyrose on tumblr!

_Leaving was the right thing to do._ That had become her mantra since leaving Jon--leaving her family--in December. Leaving would put enough distance between herself and her feelings.

 

It wouldn't be fair to Jon if she woke up and realized that she didn't have feelings for him after all. If, months later, she realized that she loved the idea of Jon. Sweet, loving Jon, more than she loved him.

 

As soon as she got to Braavos she knew that was wrong.

 

The Titan stood out against the gloomy sea landscape. Her first thought had been that the color of the sky was almost the exact color of Jon’s eyes. That stormy grey that had deepened the day they had kissed.

 

That _kiss._ She’d never known anything like it. It was like he was consuming her, creating and destroying her at the same time. It hadn’t left her thoughts since it happened.

 

When she came to Lys and visited the old Pleasure Houses (which had been turned into a museum) she had thought about more than the kiss. Her mind had turned to the times they had shared a bed, and how different things could have turned out if he had just shifted slightly.

 

That thought alone comforted her. A few months ago the idea of intimacy scared her beyond reason. Jon’s touches were innocent enough, but they still made her skittish. The thought of them moving forward had terrified her. _Leaving was the right thing to do_ she repeated dryly. It had seemed like the right thing at the time.

 

And she’d enjoyed her travels so far. Each place she visited had a different flavor profile. She learned about coffee preparation and the specialty coffees each city had to offer. Some of the cities brewed their coffee with rocks of crystallized honey, others mixed theirs with sweetmilk after it was iced. There was plenty of inspiration to be drawn from, and she made sure to keep a detailed notebook of ideas with her at all times.

 

* * *

 

She had started buying things for Jon in Braavos. It started with something small, an engraved pen that brought luck to equivocators. It was a joke that she hoped he would appreciate. In Lys she bought him a leather hair tie. If Arya was to be trusted, he had begun to grow his hair out and now had a ‘man bun.’ In Lorath she found a dagger engraved with a three headed dragon. It’s small, shorter than her forearm, and tricky to carry, but she purchased it anyways. In Myr she bought him a glass pendant. On one side is a direwolf and on the other a dragon.

 

Once she arrived in Pentos she had run out of room. Her pack is full to bursting and she’s not even halfway through the Free Cities.

 

Homesickness sets in towards the end. All she could think about was Lady and how much she missed her bed. Despite that, a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. Traveling has taught here that there are good people left in the world. She’s not scared anymore, not of things that she used to be.

 

* * *

 

The last place she had wanted to go was Volantis. It was as close to Jon as she could get being thousands of miles away. Volantis was one of the colonies of Old Valryia, where Jon’s family had come from years and years ago. Volantis was an interesting city, filled to the brim with nobles even as Sansa visited. 

 

She had wandered through the trading stalls, eyes searching for something, anything to bring back for her parents when she saw something glittering. It was obsidian, from the looks of it. Her mind went to the tale of the Lord Commander who had ruled during the Long Night. He had been a Targaryen bastard too, and had won the war with the help of obsidian. Dragonglass, they had called it back in the day. Upon closer inspection, it was a ring with a red ruby at the center.

 

“Fire and blood.” The stall owner said. “This ring belonged to the Targaryen family before the Doom.”

 

Sansa was skeptical. The Doom had happened a thousand years ago, before Aegon’s conquest. Her history was rough, but she knew that the ring couldn’t possibly be an old Targaryen heirloom. It was too precious to be sold at a street market.

 

The old man laughed at the look on her face. “It belongs to you.”

 

“What?” Sansa frowned and crossed her arms.

 

“It has been waiting for you.” It was common knowledge that magic had existed in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond for a thousand years. But magic was gone, immortalized in tales told to children in their bed. But as the man spoke, she truly believed that his ring was meant to be hers. Or, at the very least, she was meant to pass it along.

 

“How much?” The Stark family wasn’t hurting for money, but she wasn’t willing to spend a million dollars on a priceless piece of jewelry. She was shocked when the stall owner chuckled again.

 

“It’s been waiting for you. It’s no charge.” If she hadn’t been leaving that night she would’ve turned it down, worried that he would come for the ring and all of her belongings with it. But she would be gone in the morning, halfway across the Narrow Sea, safely tucked into an airplane.

 

So she took the ring, and wondered what he meant by _it’s been waiting for you._

 

* * *

 

This time when she stepped off of the plane in the Neck she wasn’t frightened. There was no sense of fear, just a quiet excitement at the prospect of seeing everyone again. Her mum said that one of them would pick her up at the airport. The _last_ people she expected to see were Gendry and Arya.

 

Arya was _round,_ well and truly so. She really _was_ glowing, hands wrapped around her belly as if on instinct. Sansa was relieved that there weren’t any pangs of jealousy plaguing her, just excitement to see the new addition to their family.

 

Gendry picked up her bags and went to put them in the back of the truck while Sansa embraced Arya gently. “How do you feel?”

 

Arya made a face. “Huge.”

 

She was right, her stomach was so large that Sansa could fit a hand on each side without touching. “Are you having twins?”

 

Gendry opened the door for Arya and threw her a look that clearly said ‘ _careful’._ Sansa took the hint and quieted.

 

“This bloody _idiot_ decided that one kid wasn’t enough at once, of course I’m bloody having twins. What luck! Right? I have to blow up to this _giant_ balloon because Gendry’s stupid—“

 

Sansa’s laughter stopped her sister’s tirade. She had missed her family _so_ much that it hurt. Soon they would be adding _two_ whole members to it. On top of that she had heard that Robb proposed to Margaery. She mentioned as much to Arya and Gendry shot her a mouthed ‘thank you’ in the rearview mirror.

 

The wedding was planned for next December. Robb wanted a Christmas wedding and everyone knew that a Tyrell wedding would take ages to plan. Margaery’s brother Loras was already married to Gendry’s uncle Renly. That was the wedding of the century and Margaery was _determined_ to top it.

* * *

 

As Arya filled her in on what she had missed the past couple months she felt herself sinking further and further into a sense of relief. They had been fine without her, though she knew they would be. Bran and Jojen were now serious, Arya said. They were probably the two oldest young adults who had ever lived, but Jojen made Bran _less_ serious, and Meera had said the same about Jojen. Rickon hated school and wanted to run away so he could live in the wild. Sansa thought he would do well as some sort of adventurer and decided that she would offer to take him to the Free Cities when (and on the condition) he graduated.

 

The last topic was one that she had been anticipating. “Jon.” Arya groaned when Gendry said his name. Sansa could tell they had talked about it before they had picked her up.

 

“He’s been _miserable,_ Sansa.” Arya whined. “You have to _do_ something about it.”

 

Sansa didn’t speak, she just watched the landscape pass by in a blur of greens and white. The last drive had been a fun one, with Jon easing her with every passing minute. How she wished she could go back to those moments. They were so simple.

 

“Sansa.” Gendry gave her a pointed look from the driver’s seat. “You should at least talk to him. It’s been a long time.”

 

No one knew what she had gone through in King’s Landing. She was more than content to keep it that way, but she knew that she had to tell Jon. He had seen everything except for the bruises. The emotions were almost worse, she couldn’t control when they would show themselves. The bruises were easier to cover than the screams.

 

The Free Cities had dulled her nightmares. She was far enough away from Joff that she knew she was safe. He wouldn’t ever leave Westeros—he had told her that the Free Cities weren’t clean enough to even breathe in. Even if he did, he would stay in much nicer places than Sansa had.

 

She had done the last thing anyone would expect of her—she’d seen a witch healer in Lys. It was left over from another time, one of dragons and direwolves, but it had still helped. The breathing exercises, the meditation, the self-reflection—it all helped. Slowly but surely, she was returning to being Sansa Stark. There would always be part of her that Joff had damaged, but she would no longer let it control her.

* * *

 

They stopped for lunch halfway through their journey and Arya gave her a look—part guilty, part smug. “We’ll be leaving now.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Sansa glanced around and saw _him._

The object of her dreams, leaning so casually against his pickup truck he looked like a sculpture. She had to remind herself to breathe, to use the exercises she had learned. Panic ebbed and flowed until she was standing by his side, looking into his gloomy grey eyes. The same eyes she had seen in Braavos.

 

“You’re here.” Sansa breathed. Ghost nudged her hand, demanding her attention as he always did. “You’re really here.”

 

His lips pulled into a half-smile, but she saw in his eyes the real emotion. The relief. The panic. The hesitation. “I’m here.”

 

“I’m not hungry.” She whispered.

 

“Me either.” He nodded and opened the door for her. Gendry had transferred her bag from his truck to Jon’s before pulling away before Sansa had time to protest. Not that she would, it was too nice to see him.

 

* * *

 

They spent the journey with Sansa regaling him of her tales. She told him about all of the historic places she had visited, leaving out the gifts she had purchased along the way. The bit about the ring was something she would keep to herself, it was too odd to mention again. It wasn’t like before—there wasn’t any hesitation on her part. There was no running away, no nervous glances.

 

He told her about how _much_ Arya had been when she was gone. The odd cravings she had, and the way she called him no matter the hour to demand he bring her something obscure.

 

“One time she wanted pineapple sorbet. In the middle of winter! I had to go to three different markets to find one that had anything even _close._ I found a mango sorbet and told her if she didn’t like it she’d have to find another Godfather for the little wolves—“

 

Sansa’s phone had started ringing, filling the car with the sound of of Billie Holliday. She blushed, remembering the last time she had heard the song, before answering. “What?” It was Arya, and the tone of her voice made Sansa’s heart beat a thousand times faster. “Arya? What is it?”

 

“It’s—they’re—coming!” Arya snapped. “ _Gendry_ is taking me to the hospital. Winterfell Hospital. We’re almost home.”

 

The color drained from her face at that. “Jon! Jon the babies are coming!”

 

“I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Jon clutched the steering wheel tighter, looking half a bucket of nerves himself. “Tell her we’re a half hour out still, but we’ll be there.”

 

Sansa nodded and relayed the information to Arya before calling Robb. “Robb! The babies are coming. Get everyone in the van and take them to Winterfell Hospital.” Robb made a whooping noise into the phone before disconnecting.

 

“They’re _early._ ” Sansa felt sick herself, and she wasn’t even having the kids. “What if something happens? My first—I don’t even _know_ what they are. Do you—“

 

 “A boy and a girl. Eddard after your dad and Cassana after Gendry’s grandma.” Sansa’s eyes prickled. She had missed so much when she was abroad, she hadn’t even considered it at the time. Everyone was different. Arya was about to be a _mother._ Her baby sister was about to give _birth._ “It’ll be fine, Sansa. Twins come early, that’s what the doctor said.”

 

 _Twins come early._ She thought about reaching out to the Lannisters to ask if they came early, but she wasn’t quite desperate enough for that. “Okay.”

 

Jon reached over and grabbed her hand. “Sansa. It’ll be fine.” The pressure was grounding enough for her to believe him, even if for a moment. They would be fine. “We’ll be there soon.”

 

He murmured a string of comforting things to her as they approached the hospital. At one point, he’d even brought her hand to his lips, brushing them gently against her knuckles. It had distracted her so much she nearly didn’t notice the big red cross on the sign next to the drive they were turning on to.

 

“We’re here?” She wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t felt like they’d been driving for years. “Thank god.” Jon dropped her off at the entrance and told her he would be back after he dropped Ghost off at home. She nodded and waved goodbye before finding reception and asking after her sister.

 

* * *

 

The maternity ward was full to bursting. Every single Stark and their counterparts were collected in the waiting room. Bran was with Jojen, Margaery was there with Loras and Renly, Robert was there—Gendry’s father and Joffrey’s dad, who was separated from Joffrey’s mother—alone thankfully, Shireen—Gendry’s cousin—was there next to Rickon. Her mum and dad were consoling a pale Gendry, who said he had come for ice chips. She asked how Arya was doing, which only made him paler.

 

“She’s—she’s really strong. I think she broke one of my fingers. She keeps saying that she’s never having sex with me again—she’s really terrifying.”

 

“Where’s Robb?” Sansa asked.

 

“With Arya. She kicked me out and asked if Robb would hold her hand in my place. The nurse told me to get ice chips, but I don’t know where to find them.”

 

“I think that’s the point.” Sansa laughed and told him he should ask the nurse’s station. Gendry thanked her and resumed his quest.

 

“Where’s Jon?” Bran asked. Sansa sat next to him and straightened her shirt so she had time to collect her face.

 

“He’s gone to take Ghost home.” Bran nodded and Jojen cocked his head. The two most observational people in Westeros in a relationship together? Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “He’ll be back though.”

 

As if on cue Jon strode in, looking more handsome than any man had the right to. He was able to work jeans and a t-shirt better than anyone she had ever known. He went straight for Ned and Cat and offered them his congratulations before taking a seat next to Sansa.

 

“How is she?” He asked.

 

“Good. Gendry said she kicked him out and asked for Robb so I would brace yourself. You’re probably next.” He looked pale at that, which made her giggle.

 

“I heard that first children are the longest labors.” Jon whispered, eyes darting to the room she was in. “That means she could berate us for _hours._ She goes for the heart too, real mean stuff.”

 

That only made Sansa laugh harder, which drew the stares of the room. Ned looked pleased, in the stoic way that he had. Cat looked slightly miffed, but resigned. It was Rickon who spoke, though.

 

“Not this again!” Everyone laughed except for Sansa and Jon, who colored a bright red.

 

* * *

 

It was four hours before the nurse came out and announced that the twins were healthy. Jon’s eyes were suspiciously wet as he turned to her. “Congratulations Aunt Sansa.”

 

“You too _Uncle_ Jon.” He beamed at that, Sansa knew he loved children.

 

They took turns seeing the new babies, two at time. Sansa and Jon were the second to go, after Ned and Cat, because they were the godparents. Arya looked exhausted but satisfied. Gendry looked like he’d been crying—happy tears.

 

They each took a baby, Jon got Cass first and she got Ned. “They are so beautiful!” Sansa cooed. Ned’s face was so small—everything was so _small_ —but perfect.

 

When they switched she saw tears streaming down Jon’s face. Arya groaned when she noticed. “Jon, you can’t cry! I’m done with tears! If anyone gets to cry it’s me and the twins!”

 

That made everyone laugh in earnest. They said their goodbyes shortly after, knowing there were still groups of people who needed to take their turn. Jon grabbed her hand when they were out in the hall. “Can we wait here for just a second?”

 

Sansa nodded, leaning against the hospital wall. “Jon?”

 

He turned to her. “Sansa.”

 

“Do you think you’ll ever… be that happy?”

 

His gaze turned smoky and she wondered if she had said something wrong. “I am now. Have been for… seven hours? Just about.”

 

She bit her lip to hide the grin that was threatening to split her face. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting there! Thanks to all who have kept reading this story. Much love. xx Ash


	8. "Come here. Let me fix it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon volunteers to babysit Arya and Gendry's new babies. Sansa steps in to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for your kind words on my last chapter! I am always so happy to see the emails coming in from AO3 telling me I have yet ANOTHER comment! Please keep them coming! As always, feel free to reach out to me on tumblr @weasleyrose. This chapter is more singing! Fluff! Getting comfortable with each other!
> 
> My realistic goal is to have this fic be at least 15 chapters. Jon's birthday is the next chapter, and I want to space them out until we get to Margaery and Robb's wedding! 
> 
> This is my LAST UPDATE before I go on vacation! I'll be gone for two weeks, but I'll be posting chapters as usual. They might be miraculously beach-themed ;)
> 
> Sansa still needs to give Jon his gifts! I'm thinking that'll happen on his birthday!

 Jon was at the Stark Estate more often than he was at his own cottage.

 

When the babies were born Arya and Gendry had moved back in, knowing they would need help raising the twins while Arya was still in law school. He had taken a consultant position so he could help them—and knowing that he would need some down time after months of asking _what if?_ His father’s estate had left him some money, by way of his mother, and he planned on using some of it.

 

He and Sansa were seeing so much of each other he was starting to learn every single one of her facial expressions. When she got up in the morning (before she had her coffee) she scrunched her eyes up and frowned when she talked. When she was holding Cass or Ned her eyes lit up and her lip curled at one end. When she looked at him—

 

 _That_ was his favorite look of all. Her eyebrows shot up and her lips turned up at the corners, like she was surprised and excited at the same time. It made his heart pound and his mouth dry.

 

The coffee shop was her main focus now. She had decided to call it Coffee Culture. Jon wanted to help in whatever way he could, and told her as much. She helped her with the planning while the kids napped, and she kept him company while he looked over legal briefs.

 

* * *

 

Going to law school with newborns wasn’t easy. Gendry decided, after a huge row, to be a stay at home dad. It would be too much for the children to be passed from person to person, and Gendry wasn’t as fond of his job as Arya was hers. It was a month into the children’s lives when Jon and Sansa were no longer needed, but that didn’t stop Jon from coming round.

 

He was there for every Sunday dinner, and in the days that they didn’t see each other, he and Sansa texted. Sansa promised to keep them updated on every new development in the babies’ development.

 

> **Sansa** : Jon I think Ned just winked at me! The cheeky bastard! He must’ve gotten it from his Uncle Renly.
> 
>  
> 
> **Jon** : Hey, I’m charming! Maybe he got it from me!
> 
>  
> 
> **Sansa** : I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wink at anyone before, Jon.
> 
>  
> 
> **Sansa** : Plus, you’re geek charming. Thinks he’s charming but is actually just a nerd.
> 
>  
> 
> **Jon** : I take offense to that! I am cute charming!

 

* * *

 

Jon found himself babysitting on a Friday night. Arya and Gendry had decided to go out for their first date night since the babies were born and he had told them that they were welcome to take the whole night off.

 

He had seriously miscalculated his ability to deal with babies.

 

Not that he didn’t _love_ babies—he did—but they were just so _loud._ And there were two of them, and they decided to _feed_ off of each other. If Ned started crying, Cass would follow, and vice versa.

 

That’s how he came to Sansa’s room, begging she help him sort them out. “I don’t know what they want! I’ve tried _everything!_ I fed them, burped them, changed their nappies— _everything!”_

 

He must’ve looked a right state because Sansa took one look at him and busted into giggles. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry it’s just—your hair.” She gestured to the bun that had pulled out of the tie that he’d wound it in. “Jon,” she smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes they just need to cry it out. They might be tired.”

 

That wasn’t something that had occurred to him. Cry it out? He wouldn’t want someone to leave _him_ in such a state. “But they seem so _upset._ ” Jon whined.

 

“They’ll be fine. Come here. Let me fix it.” He paused before joining her on the bed. “Let me braid your hair. If you insist on growing it out you’ll need to keep it out of your face, especially when dealing with the babies.”

 

She gestured for him to sit between her legs and he quickly obliged. Her fingers brushed through his hair expertly, undoing the messy bun he’d done hastily. His eyes slid shut as she worked—he could’ve cried at the tenderness of her touch. He had missed it—the tingling feeling that always accompanied their contact.

 

Too soon she was done, his curls contained for now. She didn’t pull away, instead her hand wandered to the nape of his neck to stroke the curls that gathered there. It made him shiver in the most delightful way, which shocked him back to the present. “The kids…” Sansa hummed, hand wandering down his chest.

 

“We should go check on them.” Sansa murmured. He nodded, offering her a hand.

 

“Come on, Aunt Sansa. Help me tackle the little wolves.” Her face lit up and he wished that he had a camera to capture that look forever. The way her eyes scrunched up when she smiled—yet another look to add to the collection.

 

When they reached the twin’s room they were greeted by the sound of screaming. They were still at it, nearly fifteen minutes later. Sansa sighed and pushed the door open. “Which one do you want?”

 

Jon glanced between the two children and settled on Cass. She was the one who resembled Arya the most, and it seemed she also inherited her mother’s lung capacity. The screams coming from here were twice as loud as Ned’s. He pulled Cass into his arms and started rocking from one foot to another, watching as Sansa mimicked his movements. Ned quieted instantly but Cass persisted in her screaming.

 

“Come on, love.” He whispered. “It’s all right.”

 

“Sing to her.” Sansa whispered, depositing Ned in his crib. “She loves it. It’s the only thing that calms her.”

 

Hesitation colored his features, it was one thing to sing to Sansa at a party where he’s had a few drinks—it’s another to scar his goddaughter for the rest of his life with his _horrible_ voice. As if reading his mind, she came up beside him and began to sing:

 

“The very thought of you, and I forget to do… the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do.”

 

The song stirred something in him—a memory long forgotten. He realized that his mum used to sing it to him when he was younger. It was an old love ballad. The lyrics came back to him almost instantly.

 

“I’m living in a kind of daydream, I’m happy as a king…” He sung low and soft, careful not to wake Ned who was sleeping soundly in his crib. “And foolish though it may seem, to me… that’s everything.”

 

“The mere idea of you… the longing here for you… you’ll never know, how slow, the moments go ‘till I’m near to you.” He was acutely aware that Sansa was no longer facing Cass. She was standing by his side, head resting lightly on his shoulder. Cass was no longer screaming, instead her brown eyes stared right at Jon.

 

“She looks so smart. So much like her mum.” Jon set her down in her crib, gently so as not to disturb her. “Looks like Ned’s going to take after Gendry.” Ned was the bigger twin by a few inches and had inherited Gendry’s blue eyes and dark hair.

 

“Hopefully she’s not too much like Arya. I don’t think the family can handle any more wolf blood.” Jon stroked Cass’s hair gently, wondering if his daughter might look similar. He and Arya both had the North in their features, something that had soothed him when he was a lonely only child.

 

“I hope my children have the North in them.” He whispered, thinking of his mum. She would’ve been so excited to see his kids grow up. “I wouldn’t even mind some wolf blood, so long as they turn out like Arya. She’s grown up so much.”

 

It was true, the girl he had played with as a child was no longer a _girl._ She was a mum, capable of multitasking and being an adult. He had always thought that Sansa would be the first one to get married and had kids. She had been the more maternal of the sisters anyways, but he knew that the relationships of her past had soured her attitude towards marriage and starting a family.

 

Growing up Jon had wondered if his enthusiasm for having his own family stemmed from righting his father’s wrongs. It had always scared him that his father’s ghost would hang over his head for the rest of his life. But, he supposed, he got the better end of the stick. His siblings and his father’s wife had all died with him.

 

“Your children will perfect Jon. They’ll come from you.” He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her how much he wanted his children to come from _them,_ but he didn’t want to push her away again. Not after she’d only been home for a month.

 

“Do you ever think about…” He gestured to the children. “Having your own?”

 

“It was a dream of mine once.” Sansa looked so dejected that he _had_ to reach out to her. His hand fell on her shoulder, brushing a long strand of hair away from her face. “I think I’d like that.”

 

“Sansa.” Jon gently guided her chin to face him. “You would be a wonderful mother.” He could see the disbelief in her face and it broke his heart. “You _will_ be.” He insisted. That seemed to get through to her. His lips brushed against her forehead, the most tender display of affection he could manage without breaking boundaries.

 

“Let’s go get some ice cream while they sleep.” Sansa wound her fingers through his and tugged him to the door, careful to check that the baby monitors were working. “We have Rocky Wolf _and_ Winterfell Mint. I know for a fact those are _both_ of your favorites.”

* * *

 

Jon pulled bowls out of the cupboard and found the ice cream scoop while Sansa dug through the freezer. With the ice cream procured, she went to find some sprinkles and whipped cream. “I haven’t had ice cream in months.” He said. In truth, he’d cut back on the junk food when she had left for the Free Cities. He had gone to the gym more often to try to rid himself of the thoughts of her—something he hadn’t had to do since he got back from the war.

 

Sansa’s eyes followed his, simmering with a soft heat that made his mouth go dry. He took a spoonful of ice cream to distract himself from the swooping in his stomach. “Arya told me that you’d been passing on dessert lately. I’m sure that’ll change the second I bake cookies.” She smiled softly, taking her own spoonful of ice cream. “I want to sell cookies at the shop. You know I love baking, and I think it would be nice to have a first-come first-serve baked goods section.”

 

He nodded. “Though I might be in trouble. Or I could be your most loyal customer.”

 

After they had finished their ice cream and tided up they found themselves back at the nursery, babies screaming. “We need to lay with them.” She sighed, picking Cass up and rocking her gently. “Leave Ned for now. We are going to have to co-sleep. You’d better wear something comfortable.” She laid Cass back in her crib and ushered him out. “We can use my bed, it’s bigger. Meet me in the nursery in ten.”

 

Jon didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky as to be able to share a bed with his three favorite people in the world after months of sleeping alone, but he wasn’t going to question it. He slipped into a t-shirt and boxers and found Sansa in the nursery wearing a pale pink nightgown. He took a moment to admire her soft form highlighted by the glow of the lamp, baby curled in her arms. It made him homesick for something he didn’t think existed.

 

“Ready?” Jon asked. Sansa nodded, handing Ned off to Jon before scooping Cass up and turning the light off.

 

“Arya and Gendry have bassinets in their room. The twins normally sleep there. They won’t sleep unless they know you are with them.” She pushed open her door with her foot and laid Cass in the middle of the bed, gesturing for Jon to do the same with Ned. The babies looked much more peaceful lying next to each other. “It’s also not good to separate twins. They like being near each other.”

 

Jon laid down next to Ned and pulled the sheets over his hip. She was right, Ned looked much more peaceful sleeping next to his sister. Sansa mirrored Jon, laying down gently next to her niece. For a moment, Jon closed his eyes and let himself believe they were different people—that these were their children instead of their borrowed children. It was a nice dream, but he learned long ago putting too much faith in dreams led to disappointment.

 

Sansa reached around the kids and wound her fingers through his. “Goodnight Jon.”

 

“Goodnight Sansa.”

 

Sometime through the night Gendry and Arya came home and reclaimed the kids. When Jon woke, he found his legs tangled in Sansa’s and his arm thrown over her chest. He didn’t move an inch, instead he let sleep wash over him once more.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read. I love you all. xx Ash


	9. "Happy birthday."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa throws Jon a birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW FOR MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND ABUSE. Sansa opens up to Jon about her past in this chapter.
> 
> Alright folks! Here's the next installment. They will be coming irregularly from this point because I don't have a great connection where I'm staying. I will do my best to post a chapter every other day. 
> 
> Jon & Sansa at Sunday dinner more like "gossiping together in a room full of people." 
> 
> As always, feel free to reach out to me on tumblr @weasleyrose. The second half of Jon's birthday party will be in the next chapter. I'm a slut for Ygritte/Sansa friendship so enjoy girls supporting girls. 
> 
> Happy Thrones day! I won't be able to watch it because of my internet connection but I'll probably do so tomorrow.

Jon’s birthday was approaching faster than Sansa had hoped. He was born in late October, and Sansa couldn’t quite get over how poetic it was that such a stoic man was born at a time where nature laid itself to rest.

 

The Stark family had always been there to celebrate with Jon. Since his mum died it had become a tradition to throw him a party every year. The theme was always up for hot debate. Robb favored something cool—like dragons and wolves—while Sansa preferred something muted and mature like the harvest.

 

In the end, they had all gathered together to vote. Margaery had insisted that Sansa receive the final say, seeing as she and Jon were ‘the friendliest’ to which Robb replied that ‘he still got first say, it was _his_ best friend.’ Arya had rolled her eyes at all of them, insisting that she be the tie breaker because Jon was her children’s _godfather._

 

Sansa had won out, but promised Robb that they could _tastefully_ entwine the symbols of the North and South in the theme. She had decided the best way to go about it was creating a dragon cake with wolf themed drinks. Robb was in charge of the drinks and she promised to bake the cake (with the help of Hot Pie).

 

Jon was shunned from the Stark Estate for the duration of the planning—during which he insisted that he didn’t even _need_ a party thrown for him. He claimed they were doing too much and he would hate to be a burden. Sansa had laughed and told him that he was one of them, and deserved to be treated as such.

>  
> 
> Sansa: What are you doing this Sunday? We are going to move Sunday dinner to Robb and Margaery’s apartment so you won’t feel the need to snoop.
> 
>  
> 
> Jon: I’ll be there. You really don’t have to do all of this Sansa.

 

But there was a great deal of guilt she still harbored for leaving without an explanation. She had been back for a month and the gifts she had collected for him were still laying around her room, waiting to be given. The ring she carried with her, it felt like a piece of Jon was always there—giving her strength.

 

She wasn’t any closer to telling him how she felt. They had shared tender moments that she treasured—the sense of security she felt around him was like nothing she had ever felt before. They had slept together again—in the purest way possible—and Sansa was reminded of the tales of gallant knights she had loved so much as a child.

 

They had woken that morning, limbs linked together, and talked for hours. It was the laziest Saturday morning she had had since leaving for university, and it felt good to just take him in. Her favorite moment though, had been when he kissed her.

 

It was a chaste kiss—a brush of the lips really—but it was enough to engulf her whole body in flames. It hadn’t gone any further, and they had pretended like it hadn’t happened. That’s what bothered her. Did he really care about her as much as everyone said? Or was he just playing the role of the dutiful knight? Why hadn’t he approached her when she came home?

 

But he had approached her. Sure, he hadn’t declared his undying love for her. It was the little things he did—the smiles he shared with her in private—that showed what his true feelings were. And that had been enough, until it wasn’t.

 

There was a yearning at her core, something aching to be released. She wanted Jon to run his hands down her sides and explore her until he brought her out of the shell she had been living in since coming home. She wanted to trail her lips down his chest, to see if she could undo him with looks alone. It was _these_ things she thought about lying awake at night. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to send him away, but she wanted to do something special for him.

 

This party was her love letter. It was going to be completely grand, though she knew he would prefer a small party. She wanted him to see just how loved he was by all who knew him. Jon was one of the most respected people in Winterfell. He had grown from nothing—bearing and old bastard name—but he had a dream. A dream that he had accomplished. He was a war hero, something he didn’t talk about but that was common knowledge nonetheless. Jon was _special_ and she wanted him to know how special he was to her.

 

* * *

 

Sunday dinner came quickly. Jon’s birthday was the following Sunday, and most of the preparations were already done. The cake would be made by Hot Pie, with some help from Sansa herself. The guest list had been arraigned by Arya and Robb, who had the most mutual friends with Jon. Sansa had hand delivered the invitation to Sam and asked him to pass one along to Ygritte.

 

She could tell Jon was curious about the party, though he feigned disinterest. He was a horrible liar, it was clear by the way he crinkled his eyes when he wasn’t telling the truth.

 

“Jon, I know you want to know, but you _can’t._ ” They sat around the table in Robb and Margaery’s apartment, Sansa next to Jon. Ned and Cat had already gone home for the evening, as had Arya and Gendry. Rickon, Bran and Jojen, and Renly and Loras were left along with Robb and Margaery. The conversation had split off into groups, leaving Jon and Sansa murmuring with their heads bowed together.

 

“I don’t want to know.” Jon insisted stubbornly. “I just thought you’d tell me because….”

 

“Because?” Sansa’s breath hitched.

 

“Because if you don’t I’m putting it in writing that Arya’s my favorite Stark.” He pretended to think for a moment before adding: “I suppose my godchildren are Starks too. You’ll be at the end of the list.”

 

Sansa nudged him with her elbow. “Careful, now. I can make or break this party. I could put it in the hands of Rickon. We’d be eating venison pies and be wearing squirrel pelts.”

 

A chuckle burst from his throat and Sansa thought it was perhaps the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, Jon consumed by his own laughter.

 

“I mean it Jon Snow! Don’t test me!”

 

“I would _never_!” He stage-whispered. “I’m secretly terrified of Sansa Stark.”

 

“Jon? Sansa? Care to return to us?” Margaery arched an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like to continue this somewhere more private. In that case, feel free to use the bedroom.” Robb groaned in protest as Sansa shared a shy smile with Jon.

 

* * *

 

The day of the party had her running around the estate trying to prepare the ballroom. The party would be indoors and outdoors. Though Winterfell could be unforgiving in the fall, the weather was mild enough to do well with heat lamps alone. She arraigned several bonfires to be built, along with a bar and a hot chocolate stand. Inside, she decided on a dancefloor and two beer pong tables. They weren’t too old to have some childish fun, so she decided to set up bobbing for apples and pumpkin carving.

 

There would be a small dinner beforehand, just for the family and some of Jon's close friends. It would involve blindfolding Jon and leading him into the dining area before letting him see the party. Sansa knew that Jon wouldn’t let just anyone blindfold him, so she volunteered to do it herself.

 

By the time she had chosen the [perfect dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/04/ed/9c/04ed9c53c21ea44abe105a8b07761f19--mustard-bridesmaid-dresses-yellow-prom-dresses.jpg) and applied just the right amount of makeup it was time to meet Jon at the end of the drive. She would blindfold him and drive him the rest of the way to the house. The weather was so mild she didn’t bother driving. Jon was waiting for her at the agreed upon spot and gave her a shy smile when he saw her.

 

“Are you ready, Jon?” Sansa smiled kindly, waiting for his nod. “Here we go.” He stooped so she could tie the blindfold around his eyes. She helped him into the passenger seat before taking her spot on the driver’s side and taking them the rest of the way. “No peaking!”

 

She helped him out of the truck and into the house, careful to watch for signs of distress or cheating. Jon was a good sport and surprisingly graceful as he glided through the house guided by Sansa’s encouraging words and steading hands.

 

“Wait.” They stood outside of the dining room, the hallway glowing a dull orange in the flickering lights. “Let me untie this.” She reached around and undid the loop deftly before standing on her toes and bringing her lips to his. “Happy birthday, Jon.”

 

Jon wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Her lips drove him half-mad with wanting. The kiss was innocent enough but he couldn’t help but lean into it—encouraging her further. He was desperate, greedy, ready to be consumed by her. She was just as enthusiastic, her lips pulled against his like a starved woman. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, begging entry. She obliged, hands tangling in the bun at the base of his neck.

 

“Hem.” They flew apart, eyes searching for the source of the noise. Jon spotted him first—Bran had wheeled himself up so silently that they hadn’t noticed he was there. “Really? Can you _please_ just get a room?”

 

Jon flushed and knew Sansa would look similar, should he turn his head to look. “Shall we go in?” Jon murmured, gesturing to the door.

 

“Yes,” Sansa sounded breathless, which made him smirk. “Lets.”

 

The Stark family was all in attendance, but they weren’t the only people there. Sam and Gilly sat next to Ygritte and his good friend Edd. “What—“

 

Sansa looked unsure. “I wanted you to be surrounded by the people who love you on your birthday.”

 

That meant more to Jon than any gift ever could. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for him since his mum died. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it to show his thanks “Thank you, Sansa.”

 

It was the most he could manage without making a show in front of everyone, and he wasn’t sure exactly _what_ it was that they were doing. “This is just the beginning.” Sansa pulled him towards their seats—across from Gilly and Sam. “We still have the party.”

 

Jon’s eyes widened at that. “This isn’t the surprise?”

 

She shook her head and stood. “Thank you everyone for coming to celebrate Jon. As you know, this is his last year before _real_ adulthood sets in,” That earned a round of laughter from the table. “I know Jon is an uncomplicated man, so I decided to make pizza with the help of our good friend Hot Pie. We have four different kinds, feel free to grab one of each. We made enough for an army.” She gestured to the buffet table set up in the corner and ushered everyone out of their seats.

 

Jon’s favorite pizza was mushroom, which Sansa said she had found out through Robb. The other four were fancier—goat cheese and spinach, roasted red pepper and basil, and four cheese. There were mozzarella sticks to go with it, which Jon took eagerly.

 

He had been concerned to see his ex-girlfriend at the same table as Sansa, but it appeared they got along great. Ygritte was knowledgeable about the coffee of Essos because of her time in the service, and Sansa seemed to do well with Ygritte’s blunt way of carrying herself. Gilly was a different story—there wasn’t a soul alive who didn’t get along with her. Sansa talked to Gilly about the boutique that she owned and her interest in baking.

 

Sam kept throwing him knowing looks, more so after Jon threw a casual arm across the back of Sansa’s chair. Robb seemed to be ignoring their presence completely, which Jon thought was the best present he could have given them.

 

After the pizza was eaten and the clock was nearing eight, Sansa stood once more. “Time for the party! If everyone could meet us in the ballroom in ten minutes, the guests will be arriving shortly.” Sansa laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder when he began to stand. “I’d like to give you your presents.”

 

Sansa’s lip was tucked between her teeth, something he would’ve found sexy if it hadn’t been clear how nervous she was. That piqued his curiosity. “Presents? Sansa this was more than enough—“

 

“Jon,” Sansa breathed. “Please, or I’ll lose my nerve.” She went to the buffet table and pulled out a package from underneath.

 

“Sansa—“ the package was huge. “You really didn’t—“

 

“I thought about you.” She blurted. “The second I got to Braavos. The Titan—it was one of the most impressive things I have ever seen. It’s one of the _nine_ wonders made by man. You know what compares to that? The Wall. I saw the Titan of Braavos and all I could think about was _how_ _much_ the sky looked like your eyes.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “That gloomy, grey sky looked just like your eyes.”

 

Jon wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, but the look on her face was clear. Determined. She had to do this alone.

 

“I bought you some things along my travels. I told myself it was because I felt guilty for leaving you, but I think I wanted to take you with me wherever I went. I _missed_ you, Jon. I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss—but I needed to go away. I needed to make sure that this wasn’t just some fleeting thing. I wanted to make sure that if I left we would find a way to each other again.”

 

“Sansa—“

 

“And I like to think that I wouldn’t need to do that again, because it was just my insecurities talking. I want to tell you what happened with Joff.”

 

“Okay,” he whispered. She sat next to him, face puckered like she had eaten something sour.

 

“I loved Joffrey at first. I loved him like he put the stars in the sky. Dad… dad had always been friends with Robert. We knew who Robert was, a drunk, a whorer. It was what brought us Gendry. We love Gendry, but none of us loved Robert. Dad loves Robert because they grew up together, we love Robert because of Gendry.

 

“His wife was horrible. Everyone knew Cersei was horrible but she made me feel _special._ Cersei has a way of making you feel like you are important just by talking to her. Robert wanted me to date Joff when I went down to King’s Landing for university. Joff was pretty, so I didn’t mind. We went on a few dates, and then he met my parents for the first time since we were children. _Everyone_ knew who Joff was, but I wouldn’t listen. I loved him.

 

“And then… then a year in he started cutting me off from my family. Little things at first—I wasn’t allowed to go home for Christmas, because he wanted me to spend Christmas with his family.  He didn’t touch me, not until… until I told him no.

 

“It was two years after we got together. It was just a slap at first, then it was forcing me to…to _do_ things with him. That was the worst part. I broke things off six months before you picked me up from the airport. I felt better, I was dating again. His name was Harry. Joff saw me with him and went into a rage. I had never seen him like that. He and his friend—Janos—followed me back to my apartment and…”

 

She turned away, rubbing her hands over her face. His heart broke to see her in such a state, but the anger he felt outweighed the sadness. He wanted to murder Joffrey.

 

“And they hurt me. I thought Joff was going to kill me but he didn’t. It was over as soon as it started. Harry broke things off through text and I knew I needed to go home, so I called you.”

 

He felt a pull to reach out again but he wasn’t sure if that would make her uncomfortable. “Can I…” He gestured lamely between the two of them. Sansa nodded and he pulled her into his lap.

 

“I don't want to ruin your birthday, Jon. I had to tell you and… I still have these.” She gestured to the package. He nodded, setting her back in her chair.

 

The package was heavy as he held in it his hands. He tore the wrapping and found it was a box with several smaller packages in it. He took out the smallest one—which was a leather hair cord—and smiled.

 

“How did you know I grew my hair out?”

 

“Arya told me. Her exact words were ‘Sansa he’s going to go into seclusion!’”

 

The next gift was a dagger. It wasn’t a paperweight—it was the genuine article. “Wow, Sansa. This is beautiful.” He weighed it in his hand. “It’s also dangerous. It looks like it has an edge to it.” He pulled out another package, this time a pendant. Blown glass in the image of a dragon and a direwolf. “Wow.”

 

“You are of the North _and_ the South.” Sansa smiled, looking pleased with herself.

 

The pen had him chuckling. “All lawyers are equivocators.” She nodded, laughing with him. The presents meant more to him than he could say. She had taken him on her travels, whether he had known it at the time or not.

 

“There’s one more gift.” Sansa looked hesitant. “When I was in Volantis I stopped by a stall where they were selling all sorts of trinkets.” She fingered the chain of her necklace, pulling it free to expose a ring dangling loosely. “The man said that the ring had been waiting for me, that it belonged to the House Targaryen before the Doom. I knew it was wonky, but he didn’t charge me for it. I had it appraised when I got back… the ruby is real. It’s obsidian, dragonglass they used to call it. It belongs to you.”

 

“That sounds like magic.” Jon teased. “They always said that there was still magic in Essos. Perhaps some of it followed you back.” The fairytales that Old Nan had told them growing up came back to him then. “We know that Others are real, why not magic rings?” The thought of wearing a ring that belonged to his father’s family stirred something in him, something proud and sad.

 

“If the tales are true, you are the last Targaryen. Your aunt can’t have children, and the Blackfyres have been gone for a thousand years.”

 

Jon nodded, wondering if it wasn’t best that they would be the last. The Targaryen legacy was clouded with madness and death. He held out his palm and Sansa dropped the ring into it. “Sansa.” Her eyes met his. “Thank you.”

 

She blushed as he slid the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly. “Come on, or you’ll miss you own party.”  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed his reactions to the gifts! I love slow burn :~) xx Ash


	10. "I want you to be happy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's birthday party part two! Starks, Ygritte, and some fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would I be without angst? A ghost. Thank you to those who have reached out to me on tumblr! I had a question about prompts-I absolutely accept prompts on tumblr! I added a prompt status on my sidebar to let you know when I'm accepting them and when I'm not! 
> 
> I thought last night's episode was promising for us, by the way.
> 
> My wifi is spotty as all hell on vacation. I'm going to try my BEST to give you regular updates but I'm not promising anything. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews and kudos! I love you guys!
> 
> @weasleyrose on tumblr.

 

Sansa needed some air. The party was a success so far. Jon looked _happy_ surrounded by the party guests. It was a sight to behold—he cut an impressive silhouette standing in front of one of the bonfires, nursing a whiskey.

 

There was something about parties that reminded Sansa of darker times, of Joff and his insistent hands wandering places that weren’t appropriate for their environment. She wouldn’t bother Jon with it, not after she had unloaded all of her baggage to him earlier. No, she would wander down the drive by herself and nurse her wine.

 

The Stark Estate was beautiful. Nearly all of it was wilderness—hot springs, coniferous trees, winter gardens, greenhouses, weirwoods—the drive was her favorite. It was flanked with trees that stood like sentinels. They were ancient, maybe as old as her house itself. The Stark family had owned the land for a thousand years but inhabited this space exclusively for a few hundred. The grounds reminded her that life was fleeting—everything was temporary. The only constant in their lives was nature.

 

“Your family is lucky.” Sansa turned, nearly losing her balance, to face Ygritte.

 

“Why’s that?” Sansa asked. Ygritte gestured around her in response.

 

“My family are from further north. North of the Wall. We were called Wildlings once, though we preferred being called the Free Folk. We came over during the last Long Night. We lost our history when we came down South. You have all of this.”

 

Sansa nodded. “I am lucky. Winterfell has been a constant in my family for a thousand years—more even if the Maesters are to be believed. Sometimes I wonder how much of our history is correct.”

 

Ygritte shrugged. “Correct or incorrect, makes no matter. It’s yours. And,” she gave Sansa a grave look. “So is Jon.”

 

This was a conversation she had been dreading. Sansa liked Ygritte enough—hell, she _admired_ Ygritte. There was something about her bluntness that reminded her of the North. Sansa had always wished she could be stoic and unchanging like her father, like Jon. Softness surrounded her—Southron softness, like her mother. How she could ever match Ygritte was beyond her, though she knew Jon liked her because she was soft. “I know,” she whispered. “I never planned—never _expected_ this to happen.”

 

“Jon’s had feelings for you for _years._ He told me so after we broke up.” Ygritte laughed, it was a melodic sound—it suited her. When she laughed she could see the person that Jon had fallen in love with. She was beautiful when she smiled. “Don’t mistake me, I’m not bitter. Jon’s a good guy, but he’s too nice for me. I would eat him alive.”

 

“Years?” Arya had hinted as much, though Sansa thought she’d been teasing. “How many years?”

 

Ygritte looked sympathetic. “Jon’s loved you since he knew what love was. This is the real deal, love. Jon… he’s got a good heart.” She shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. “I know you aren’t dating, but you should be. He talks about you all the time. He told me that you went through a lot down South—he didn’t say anything more—but he won’t hurt you.”

 

“My sister said the same.” Arya had told her that the night she found out she was pregnant. It had been such a small gesture that Sansa hadn’t made anything of it. Now she knew it was more than that—it was a push.

 

“You seem nice.” Ygritte said. “But nice isn’t enough, not forever. Get going.”

 

 That Northern bluntness made Sansa smile. “Thanks Ygritte.” Ygritte nodded and turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

Jon was enjoying himself. Parties weren’t usually his forte, too much noise and too many people. This party was an exception; Sansa had truly outdone herself. Somehow, she had managed to invite his old military friends, along with the people he worked with at the law firm. Pyp, Grenn, and Toad—his friends from the service—had come down from up North for the week. They made plans to explore Winterfell and go for a hike later in the week. It was a great reunion that he hadn’t been expecting, and he loved Sansa for it.

 

“Oi! Jon!” Ygritte was striding towards him, looking as intimidating as usual (even in heels). “Your girlfriend is waiting for you down the drive.” She gestured towards the trees and left without a backwards glance.

 

Jon downed the rest of his whiskey and started in the direction Ygritte had pointed to. One of the things he loved best about the Estate was the silence that the trees brought. It was easy to pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist when surrounded by nature.

 

He found Sansa standing under a large pine tree, looking half a goddess in the yellow dress she was wearing. The color made her hair look even brighter, a stark contrast to the green around her. “Sansa.” He called.

 

When she turned his heart caught in his throat. She was a sight to behold from any angle, but the look on her face when she saw him was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The way her eyes lit up and widened _just_ slightly made him smile. “Jon! You’re missing the party.”

 

He gazed up at the tree, taking in the _size_ of it. The base alone was easily the width of four grown adults. “I felt like a break, and the trees aren’t nearly as loud.”

 

“Jon.” Sansa grabbed his hand. “Promise you didn’t come out here for me.”

 

He squeezed her hand. “I never was a good liar.”

 

She sighed, bringing her drink to her lips. “I want you to be happy.”

 

“I am happy.” Jon murmured. “I’m happy when I’m with you. I’m happy _because_ I’m with you. You—you did all of this for _me._ Why? The gifts, the party—inviting my friends—you did so much for me.”

 

“You know why.” Sansa breathed.

 

“Not this again.” Jon tugged her closer. “The last time you said that to me I didn’t see you for nine months.”

 

“I—“ Sansa looked troubled. “I want to tell you everything, but I can’t yet. I can’t…I can’t do this yet. I need time.”

 

Jon nodded. He knew all about patience, about waiting for things to get better. Waiting for the right moment, for the ball to drop, for safety. It often didn’t happen, not like how you expected. “I like you, Sansa.” He cleared his throat, willing himself to have courage. “I like you a lot, but I think you know that.”

 

Sansa nodded, cheeks coloring. “I had heard.”

 

“I also think you like me too. I will wait for you, but I don’t think that’s what you want. I think you don’t _know_ what you want. Life isn’t about waiting for winter, it’s about dealing with it when it comes. Winter is coming only means so much.” The house words reminded him of his mother. His father’s words were more severe: fire and blood. It had always reminded him of the destruction that occurred when the Targaryens didn’t get their way.

 

If he was nervous before, he was positively shaking waiting for her response. She looked shocked, and perhaps a little resigned. That gave him hope. “You’re right.” Sansa said. “You know the worst things about me and you still want to…”

 

“Date you.” He supplied.

 

“Date me?” Sansa smiled, lips pulling up just slightly.

 

“Yes.” He said plainly. “I do.”

 

“Okay.” Sansa whispered.

 

“Okay?” Jon pressed a kiss to her temple.

 

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

They found themselves back at the party, attempting to mingle. Jon couldn’t seem to keep a smile off of his face and to his delight, neither could Sansa. Robb found them playing beer pong in the ballroom, going up against Sam and Grenn. Upon seeing the look on his best mate’s face, he excused himself with promises to return as soon as he had a word with Robb.

 

“Robb—“ Jon nodded to the door leading into the courtyard. “Let’s talk outside.” Robb nodded and followed him out. Before he could say a word he offered Robb a cigarette and lit his own.

 

Robb looked guilty as he took a drag. “I told Marg I would give these up before the wedding.”

 

“You have time. Over a year.” Robb nodded and it was Jon’s turn to look guilty. “I love her, you know.”

 

Robb nodded again, taking another drag. “I’m not that thick. I did notice. Took me a while, but I noticed.”

 

Jon knew that Robb knew. Things changed their freshman year of college, right before he shipped out. Robb had taken Margaery to prom, and Jon had watched as Sansa was carted off to prom by one of the Karstarks, envy cutting through him like a knife. “Senior prom?”

 

Robb chuckled. “You couldn’t hide it anymore. You nearly tore Karstark to pieces when he put his hand on Sansa’s waist. Sansa wasn’t even _nice_ to you, so I couldn’t understand it. I always thought you deserved better than my sister, as odd as that sounds.” He sighed. “Then she came back… we pieced things together. Joffrey was always horrible, even as a child. Cersei didn’t help matters by babying him.”

 

“You knew?” Jon asked. “I didn’t think she told anyone.”

 

“She didn’t. We heard it from Robert. He beat the living hell out of Joffrey when he heard. Joffrey had bragged about it at some party. We didn’t want to press her—Sansa has always been the… the gentler of the Starks. She’s got mum’s Southron instincts.” Robb looked pained. “I don’t want to press her about it, but it would be nice if she told us. If not, at least we know that Joffrey won’t bother her again.”

 

Jon nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You know I won’t hurt her.”

 

“It’s not really her I’m worried about.”

 

“I’m a big boy.” Jon clapped Robb on the back. “I can take care of myself.”

 

Robb smiled. “I know. Northmen talking about their feelings? This is a once in a lifetime thing.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa found Jon in the courtyard, figure outlined in the moonlight. “There you are!”

 

Jon turned and smiled, crushing the cigarette butt against his heel. “Sorry, I just had to speak to Robb.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “What now, Robb trying to protect my honor?”

 

Jon looked like he was going to reply, but shook his head instead. “Something about my honor. It doesn’t matter, I think we have his blessing—whatever that’s worth.”

 

She smiled at that. “Let’s go shove it in his face, it’s time to sing happy birthday.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. The guests were gathered around the cake table. It was an impressive cake to be sure—a three headed dragon with sparklers in its mouth instead of candles.

 

“Wow.” Jon kissed her cheek. “This is impressive.”

 

“Hot Pie did most of it.” Sansa was proud of their work. “Ready everyone?” The crowd started singing as she lit the candles. She joined in, wrapping an arm around his waist.

 

“Thank you everyone.” Jon bellowed. Sansa pointed at the cake next to the dragon cake. 

 

“This is the real cake, the one that people are going to eat. Robb told me your favorite is chocolate mousse.” Jon nodded and Sansa smiled. “Good, let’s go eat this somewhere else.”

 

Sansa tugged him back towards the courtyard, cake in hand. She figured they deserved something quiet and private for a few more moments.

 

* * *

 

Later that night—as the party raged into the morning—the guests started to dwindle. When there was only the Stark family left, Jon thanked each of them. “You all mean so much to me.” It was an uncharacteristic show of affection, but he felt they deserved it. They had worked so hard to make his night special.

 

Arya was the first to approach him as he was readying for bed. “So, are you together now?”

 

They had had this conversation before, or one similar enough that it made no matter. Jon flushed. “Yes. I think.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You _think?_ ”

 

“I asked her to date me. She agreed.” Arya rolled her eyes at that. “What?” He demanded.

 

“Only you could make dating sound like a military assignment.”

 

“Arya?” She crossed her arms. “I love your sister.” It was odd to say it. It was the second time he had said it that night, and each time he said it felt more natural. “I think I’ve loved her my whole life, whatever that means. I really _do_ love her though.”

 

“We know.” It was Jon’s turn to sigh. “ _What?_ ” She mocked.

 

“Who is _we_?”

 

“Robb, Marg, Gendry, Bran, Jojen, Rickon, me, mum, dad, Renly, Loras—“

 

“I get it.”

 

“It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that this isn’t just some fling, you know.”

 

“I know.” Jon felt old then.

 

“She loves you too, she’s just too stupid to admit it.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! xx Ash


	11. "Can I kiss you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow takes Sansa Stark on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this chapter. I'm having major writer's block and this is the best I could come up with. It's short but it's important. I'm sorry I feel SO bad. 
> 
> The response to this fic has been truly overwhelming. I want to thank every single one of you for reaching out to me and letting me know how much you like this fic. I hope that the next chapter is better. I'm going to start it ASAP! 
> 
> In the meantime, please feel free to reach out to me on tumblr @weasleyrose. I am always accepting prompts! I might do a few to get my creative juices flowing. 
> 
> So much love to you all!

Jon was sweating. It wasn’t often that he found the complete inability to focus—years of military training had taught him just the opposite. Yet here he was, sitting across from Sansa and _sweating._

 

It was their first real date, though the diner date had still felt like a date to him at the time. He had made reservations at a _nice_ restaurant in Winterfell—the black-tie kind—and picked her up with a dozen roses in hand. The look on her face had made it all worth it. He wanted her to _feel_ worth it.

 

So there they sat, Sansa looking ethereal in a midnight blue dress that made her eyes sparkle, and Jon trying to focus on _anything_ other than the dip in her collarbone that the dress didn’t cover. Sansa kept brushing hair out of her face and Jon wished he could just do it for her—graze his fingers on her cheekbone and lower…

 

No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t initiate intimacy. They needed to move at her pace.

 

So, he would continue to admire her and love her because it is what she deserved.

 

* * *

 

Sansa was acutely aware of Jon’s eyes on her. At one point in her life it might’ve made her skin crawl—made her want to run and hide—now it did just the opposite. It made her want to jump his bones, right there in the restaurant.

 

She knew that he was keeping his distance and she _was_ grateful for it. There were still moments she could feel Joff’s hands on her. It wouldn’t be fair to Jon if he was there when it happened. There was nothing he could do about it, and she knew he would find a way to feel guilty about it.

 

Her family still didn’t know what had happened between her and Joff. She was in therapy—and making progress—enough progress that she wasn’t worried about running away again. The thought didn’t even cross her mind—she was home, and home for good.

 

The date was lovely, exactly what she wanted. They chatted about everything—her progress with the coffee shop, his new cases. It felt natural and so domestic it made her smile. Her parents were the type of couple to work in any situation. They loved each other so much that they could talk about anything _anywhere._ Sansa felt that with Jon. They could talk about the weather and she would still have a stupid smile plastered on her face.

 

Jon told her they should skip dessert because he had something planned for them. That piqued her curiosity. “Something special?”

 

Jon nodded. “It’s your turn to get blindfolded.”

 

Sansa laughed and let him tie a scarf around her eyes. He guided her out of the restaurant and into the mid-December chill. She shivered as he opened the door to his truck, easing her in. “Can I have a hint?”

 

“Nope.” He started climbed in the driver’s seat and grabbed her hand. “You’ll have to wait.”

 

It didn’t take them long to get to wherever they were going, and when he opened the door for her the scent was overwhelmingly familiar. “Jon are we home?”

 

He chuckled but said nothing, guiding her over the uneven ground. When they finally reached their destination, he pulled the blindfold off and unveiled the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

 

Somehow, he had turned the Stark’s gazebo into something out of a fairytale. The fire pit in the center was raging, flanked by candles in mason jars. She spotted a speaker in the corner and shot him a confused glance. His cheeks flushed pink. “Our first dance was… well, you left afterwards.” He plugged his phone in and turned to her. “I thought we should make a better memory.”

 

Billie Holliday came crooning through the speakers once more and Sansa thought that she might die on the spot. He held out his hand, looking every inch a prince. It reminded her of the stories she had loved so much as a child, before she had realized that they were just stories.

 

Yet, Jon looked so entirely regal she could close her eyes and pretend that she was a princess who could be swept off of her feet. She took his hand and relaxed into him, swaying her hips to the melody.

 

Jon pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and she wished for the thousandth time that evening that he would move his lips just a little bit lower. “Jon…”

 

“Can I kiss you?” Those four words reverberated through her head. No one had _asked_ her before—her past boyfriends had _taken_ what they wanted without a thought about what _she_ wanted.

 

She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to ask, that she wanted him more than she could say, but the words got stuck in her throat. All she could manage was a nod.

 

And then his lips were on her, and if she thought she had known kisses before, it was _nothing_ compared to this one. It wasn’t their first, but it was the most raw. Sansa felt bare as his lips brushed hers, soft at first, then more demanding.  

 

* * *

 

Jon couldn’t believe his luck. His goal had been to make her smile, maybe make her fall in love with him a little bit—but he truly hadn’t thought that dancing with her would make her react the way she did.

 

Her lips pulled greedily at his, parting them with her tongue. As she deepened the kiss he felt himself pulled further into the abyss that was Sansa Stark. By all the gods, she was perfect. The way she pulled at his lip with her teeth drove him half-mad with wanting. He was unsure of where to place his hands—not wanting to push her too far—when she pulled them to her waist and balled her own in his shirt.

 

He pulled her closer, a slight movement of his hips had them flush against each other. It was the most delicious form of torture—feeling her without truly _feeling_ her. It was worth it to hear the moan escape her lips until he became uncomfortably aware of just _what_ that moan did to him.

 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I got carried away—“

 

“No.” Sansa’s face was flushed, chest heaving, and lips bruised. It was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. “No, don’t stop.”

 

Never one to disappoint a woman, he took her face in his hands and stroked her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

 

There was a devilish glint in her eyes as she reached between their bodies—letting him know just how _sure_ she was. He growled, crushing his lips to hers again.

 

Gone was the tenderness, the light touches, the hesitation. The tension in his trousers was becoming painful. “Should we take this inside?” Sansa asked.

 

Jon Snow would regret the next words for the rest of his days. “No.”

 

“No?” The confused look on Sansa’s face made his heart hurt.

 

“We don’t need to rush things.” He would never force Sansa into anything—not after all she had been through. Jon wanted to give Sansa control back, not take it away—but this was too soon. They had just started to learn who they were as Jon _and_ Sansa. Fucking was easy—effortless really—but it wasn’t the endgame.

 

And, if he was honest, Jon still had doubts about how far Sansa’s feelings went. Her feelings were new, raw, and maybe a little volatile. His feelings had been consistent for years—easily over a decade. Love was a familiar emotion for him, he had love Ygritte once. He might have even loved Ygritte’s friend Val. Love for Sansa—loving another person—was new. Sure, she loved her family and friends; but loving in the way that Jon wanted to be loved was new.

 

He loved her too much. It consumed him at times, and he knew that he would _always_ love her. That scared him, the idea that Sansa could do _anything_ and he would still love her.

 

“You don’t…” Sansa chewed on her lip. “ _Why?_ ”

 

He might have been honest if he wasn’t such a coward. One time when he was in the service, his mentor had told him to _kill the boy._ His exact words had been _‘Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and let the man be born.’_ Those words came back to him in that moment, through all the years. They had to be honest with each other, it was as simple as that. “Because I’ve… because Sansa, I’ve loved you my whole life and I don’t want to mess this up.”

 

Her eyes widened then, and he wished he could take back what he had said. The words were out of his lips before he could stop them. It was too soon to be pushing his feelings on her, he had promised himself that he would wait until she was ready. “I…”

 

“You don’t have to say it back.” She nodded, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"

 

“You are so good to me, Jon.” Sansa whispered.

 

The look in her eyes was one he would remember for years to come. It was so open, so honest, that he thought he might fall into it. He felt raw, like she had pried open his ribcage and glanced into his soul. The stubborn part of him wanted to hold on to what remained of his heart, the other part wanted to give it all to her. Body and soul.

 

He loved her, though. Love was a fickle thing—able to be returned or ignored. If she didn’t feel the same way he didn’t want to be so far gone that he couldn’t come back. He had made that mistake with Ygritte once upon a time. That was different, but not by much.

 

Ygritte never loved him as much as he had loved her. It was her nature—she needed people to be obsessed with her or she lost interest. Sansa was different. It was easy to fall in love with Sansa. Keeping her was another thing.

 

He knew Sansa like the back of his hand, knew that if she was afraid of something she ignored it until it went away. What if she did that to him? Ignored him until he went away?

 

The fear must’ve shown on his face. “Jon, please. Everyone in my life treats me like I’m going to break, I can’t have you doing the same.”

 

“I’m not afraid you’ll break,” he whispered. “I’m afraid you’ll run so far you won’t come home next time.”

* * *

 

Home. Years away had taught her just how precious home could be. King’s Landing had never been home, not really. The North had seemed to far away to really _be_ home anymore. Until she came home to Jon.

 

A person shouldn’t be _home._ The idea of relying on someone so much—the idea that someone was a _key_ to happiness worried her. She thought she had broken herself of that habit, until she called Jon.

 

The moment he had picked up the phone—voice husky from sleep—she knew where home was. Home was with Jon, wherever that might be. When she went to Braavos she had felt the same. When she thought of home, she thought of them lying in the blanket fort—Ghost squished between them.

 

“I’m not going to leave again, Jon.” The promise fell easily from her lips, binding herself to him. “And if I do I’m taking you and Ghost with me.”

 

His smile was a small one, but enough to satisfy her. “Promise?”

 

 _Of course,_ she wanted to say, _I love you._ The words wouldn’t come, though his confession still lingered in the air. It grounded her and terrified her at the same time. How could someone experience so many emotions at once?

 

The most she could manage was a nod. He kissed her then—a soft, chaste kiss, but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. xx Ash


	12. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa have a moment on the second night of Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohooo! Chapter 12! 
> 
> Heavy abuse tw later in the chapter. 
> 
> So I thought I was going to wrap this up with "I love you." But that's probably not going to happen! I need to write the "I love you" chapter in order to progress the plot, and I want the last chapter to be Robb and Margaery's wedding. 
> 
> Anyways! Thank you for everyone who reached out to me on tumblr (@weasleyrose), and for your wonderful compliments. This chapter felt repetitive, but the next chapter will be faster paced! I love you guys!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

It's Christmas time in the Stark household. It feels like yesterday that Jon had picked Sansa up from the airport, when in reality it had been a year. 

 

They celebrated their airport-a-versary, as Sansa called it, by baking cookies together at the cottage. It was a small thing, an inconsequential date, but Jon felt like he was walking on air. 

 

The Stark Estate was filled to the brim by the time Jon took up residence in what had quickly become his room. Everyone came to stay—including Robert Baratheon. Robert alone counted as a full house, he was never quiet and often drunk. Gendry had confided to Jon that he had nowhere else to go at Christmas and therefore had to stay with the Starks. 

 

This Christmas was entirely different from the other Christmases they had had before. Sansa was in high spirits for the first time in years, and Jon wanted to make the most of it. They had so many guests that their Twelve Nights of Christmas parties became smaller and more concentrated. It felt adult-like and familiar. 

 

Jon had debated on what to get Sansa for months now. The best gift—and the one he really wanted to give her—was the engagement ring he had purchased when she came back from Braavos. Arya was the only person who knew he had it, but it was still too soon. Sansa hadn't even told him that she loved him. Not yet. 

 

It was only a matter of time, and Jon was a patient man. They were still getting to know each other—which he enjoyed very much. There was no way he would screw up the comfortable rhythm that they had fallen into.

 

The first party was Jon's favorite. He and Sansa had spent the night before cuddling and laughing--occasionally he would steal a kiss when the conversation lulled. They knew they slept best when they were together, and had given into it long ago. 

 

He was in high spirits that day. 

 

* * *

 

Sansa had wanted to look her best for the party. It was, after all, a year ago that she had royally messed up their relationship. She wasn't naive. She knew what would be happening now if they had started dating then. 

 

In truth, she had found the ring while she was tidying up the cottage. 

 

Jon's trousers were on the floor in a heap and she knew he had been so busy he hadn't had time to straighten things up, so she figured she would do it for him. 

 

That's when the little velvet box had fallen out. Her stomach had dropped to her feet when she realized just what it symbolized. The box was so tiny, yet it meant so much to her. When she opened it, she found a rose gold band embellished with diamonds. At the center was a heart shaped diamond sparkling beautifully in the low light of the bedroom.

 

It had been too much at the time. They had only been dating for a month—but they both knew it didn't feel like that. She had given her heart to him the minute she had stepped off the airplane in the Neck the year before. They belonged together. 

 

Still, Jon deserved better. He deserved someone who wouldn't be afraid to say _'I love you'_ openly and honestly. No matter what she felt, she was still too much of a coward to say it out loud. Those words had been soured from years of Joffrey forcing them out of her by way of threats. There were too many false memories associated with the phrase. They would make new ones, but not quite yet. She still needed time. 

 

Yet, she had slipped the ring on her finger and pretended for just a moment that they were different people. She thought back to the moment she had left the year before and wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t. They might’ve started dating straightaway. They could have had endless moments in the nine months that she was gone—she realized she was crying, feeling empty for a future that could have been.

 

She had wiped her tears away, angry at herself for mourning something that couldn’t be—but also for running in the first place. It wouldn’t do well to dwell, that much she knew. It was like her memories of Joff—best left in the past.

 

* * *

 

So, she did her hair up in elaborate braids and donned a plaid skirt and a black top. It was the most festive thing she had ever worn to one of Robb’s Christmas parties. Last year she had needed to hide the bruises that decorated her arms and legs, this year she was determined to show how much she had changed.

 

The party was in full swing by the time she came downstairs. Jojen was Santa this year, and Bran volunteered to be the elf. The twins were being strategically posed around Jojen to take the perfect picture. It was mostly fueled by Gendry, who claimed that pictures were the _best_ way to remember the day. Arya grumbled about how excessive it all was (the twins were dressed up in little Christmas outfits) but Sansa knew that she loved it.

 

It all made her long for that connection once more. Her and Jon had only been dating properly for _a month_ but she could already see _their_ children sitting on Santa’s lap and telling him what they wanted for Christmas. They might have Jon’s curly brown hair and her Tully blue eyes—or perhaps they would have her hair and his eyes. It all made her terribly nostalgic for something that didn’t exist.

* * *

 

Jon found Sansa near the Santa station, Cass in her arms. She was singing softly—Silent Night—and bouncing. Cass looked so sweet dressed up in her Christmas dress. The twins had grown so much in the two months since they had been born—Cass especially.

 

Gendry gave Jon a knowing look and handed him Ned. “Will you take them up to the bedroom?” Jon nodded and nudged Sansa gently.

 

“Let’s go.” They loved putting the twins down—they hadn’t gotten to nearly as much since Jon had returned to his lawyer position. He missed consulting, missed how much time he got to spend with everyone, but he knew it would be best in the long run. His father had left him a great deal of money, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to live on the ghost of his dead dad.

 

Jon set Ned in the crib and made sure he was comfortable. Sansa did the same with Cass. They linked hands and stared down at their godchildren, smiles ghosting on their faces. “They’re so big.” Sansa murmured, as if reading his mind.

 

“I know.” Jon pulled her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “They don’t talk or do anything, but I love them so much.”

 

“I know.” Jon thought back to their conversation when the babies were born—when he told her that she would make an amazing mother. Seeing her with the twins, being an excellent aunt, reinforced all of those feelings.

 

The twins went to sleep in record time. It had been a long day for them—they had been passed between every single relative who visited. He and Sansa left the room as quietly as possible. Once outside, Jon gave Sansa’s arm a tug. “Wait a second.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa’s heart fluttered. Was this the moment? Would he really propose before she even said that she loved him? The words meant nothing themselves—her actions spoke volumes, she knew. All of her actions pointed to her loving him, but it would be too much.

 

“Jon—“

 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

 

Sansa obeyed, sticking out her hands. She felt him drop something long and velvety onto her palms. When she opened her eyes, she found a rectangular jewelry box. “What?”

 

“Open it.”

 

She did as she was bid, and found the ring she had given him on a long chain. “Jon! This was meant for you—“

 

“No, I don’t think it was.” He picked up the chain and guided it over her head. “It was waiting for you—isn’t that what the vendor said? It was waiting for _you_. Not me. And anyways—“ he looked so awkward then she reached out and grabbed his hand. “I want you to have a piece of me with you.” It was one of the most thoughtful gifts she had ever been given. She was relieved that they had avoided an awkward situation, which must’ve been evident on her face. “Were you expecting something different?”

 

Panic bloomed across her features. She didn’t want to be found out. Not that she was snooping—but it was clear that he hadn’t wanted her to find the ring. “No!” She said too quickly. “This is perfect. Really, Jon.”

 

He bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot. “You… you hadn’t heard anything, have you? About…” She shook her head, but her flushed cheeks gave her away. “Gods, who told you? Was it your dad? I was sure he wouldn’t spill.”

 

Jon had asked Ned Stark to marry his daughter. Sansa would’ve cried if she wasn’t so panicked. It wasn’t fair, Jon was so _perfect._ Perfect at the wrong time. “I found the ring while I was cleaning the cottage.”

 

“I can explain—“

 

“I feel like I should be the one explaining. You have been so patient with me, and you don’t

have anything to show for it. We haven’t even…” Sansa bit her lip. “We haven’t even had sex and you are ready to marry me? I don’t get it, Jon! You are so _good_.” Every conversation seemed to lead back to this one. It wasn’t fair to Jon. “And you have to deal with me like this!”

 

“Listen to me.” Jon took her face in his hands gently. “I don’t care about any of that. I just…if there’s anything I learned from my mum and her death, it’s that life is really _fucking_ short. When you find someone, you don’t let them go. My parents loved each other, or so mum told me… and he died. Just like that. I’ve waited my whole life for something like this to come along. I’m not going to let you go.”

 

A weight lifted off of her shoulders. Every time they had a heart-to-heart she felt a bit of the darkness leave her. She never thought the broody, quiet Jon Snow could speak so eloquently—so lovingly.

 

With every passing minute, she felt herself come closer and closer to the words. I love you. So simple, just three _little_ words. Three syllables. No effort at all, and they would be out there for the world to hear.

 

And she would say them soon, because she felt them with every fiber of her being. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

“Don’t _say_ anything. Just kiss me.” She did him one better, she pulled him towards her room and pushed him onto the bed.

 

They hadn’t made love yet, and they wouldn’t tonight. There was something more important that he needed to see.

 

Joffrey had a thing for bruises. Typically, he would hit her hard enough to mark her skin. Sometimes he would break skin. Most times he just wanted to make her squirm—keep her in fear at all times.

 

But there were still scars. If Jon wanted to love her, he would have to love all of her. She pulled her top off, followed quickly by her skirt, then her tights. The scars were on her belly and her chest mostly, but some of them trailed down her legs. “I—I want you to see what he did to me.”

 

She ran her fingers down the scars on her stomach, trailing a path where bruises used to be. “He wanted to keep me pretty, so he always hit me below the face. Sometimes he would go for my arms so I remember him when I was sore the next day.”

 

Jon’s face showed just how much love he had for her. It made her slightly dizzy. “I won’t ever let anyone touch you again.” He pulled her close and kissed each one of the scars individually. “I promise.”

 

She believed him. The safest she had ever felt was when she was encircled in Jon’s arms. “Can we just lay here for a while?”

 

Jon nodded, pulling back the blankets so they could get more comfortable. “Come here.” He murmured, arms pulling her close. Sansa snuggled into his back and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 

“Thank you, Jon.”           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all. xx Ash


	13. "I love you." / "I saved a piece for you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Knights and Maidens. The big three words. Sansa makes progress on the coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I want to apologize for how long this took! I hope you enjoy the "I love you" for the first time! Things are still going slow, but now that we've made that hurdle things will come faster. 
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me! As always, I'm accepting jonsa prompts on tumblr @weasleyrose.

“Sansa!” Jon yelled from the far end of the yard. “I don’t want to be the dragon anymore! Why can’t Robb be the dragon this time?”

 

“Because you are a Targaryen, Jon!” Sansa was outfitted like a princess, hair woven into a tiara and dress brushing the ground when she walked. It suited her, Jon thought—reminded him that the Starks were regal in their own right. He’d never thought that the Kings of Winter were particularly scary—they had lost to his family, after all—they didn’t have dragons and they never ruled all of the Seven Kingdoms, but when he saw Sansa everything changed.

 

Sansa looked like she could sit the Iron Throne and rule, even at seven years old. The light was falling just right on her hair, making it look alive in the light. Each angle changed the color—first auburn, then golden, then fiery red. She was so _pretty_ that just for once, Jon wanted to be her knight.

 

“I can be the dragon.” Robb shouted. “I’m brave enough!”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. It didn’t deter Jon, however. “See, Sansa! I can be the knight!”

 

Jon crossed his fingers behind his back. _Just_ _once!_ He begged the Old Gods. _Just once let me be the knight!_ To his great joy Sansa relented.

 

“Fine, but just because your family used to _be_ knights.” Sansa ran towards Robb who, though only a few years older than her, scooped his sister into his arms and roared.

 

“Come get the princess, Ser Jon!” Robb bellowed. “But only if you are brave enough!”

 

Jon took off at a sprint after his best friend. Arya was at his tails—as the King she was part of the action. “I am brave enough! Face me!” Jon pulled the stick out of his belt and brandished it like a sword. “I will take you down with my sword, Ice!”

 

Arya shook her head. “You can’t wield Ice! That’s _my_ sword! You have to use Dark Sister or Blackfyre.”

 

Jon thought for a moment about the two swords—deciding that he would rather yield Blackfyre. It seemed fitting—the Blackfyres were bastards just like him. “Fine! I’ll use my sword Blackfyre and all shall fear me!” He waved the stick around and pointed it towards Robb. “Release the princess!”

 

“Or what?”

 

“Or I’ll cut you down!”

 

Sansa had a shy grin on her face, eyes following the stick with rapt attention. “Save me—oh please—good Ser! If you do I will reward you!”

 

That caught Jon off guard. Reward him? Normally she gave Robb a kiss on the cheek when he saved her. What would she do for him? She _hated_ him.

 

“I am coming for you, Princess Sansa! Dragon! Stand and fight!” Jon pressed closer to Robb, readying his strike. Just as he was about to whack Robb in the foot, Arya came up from behind and tackled him. Sansa fell free from his grasp with a shriek.

 

“Sansa? Sansa are you alright?” Jon demanded, falling to the ground to make sure she was alright.

 

“Arya! Ow!” Sansa was clutching her ankle, tears welling at her eyes. “I’m—I’m okay…. ow, no—Jon, I’m _fine.”_ Jon scooped her into his arms and glanced at her ankle. It looked bruised, but there weren’t any bones sticking through her skin. He thought that was a good sign.

 

“You’re brave.” Jon murmured, reaching out to touch her ankle. “I would be crying.”

 

“I am brave.” Sansa repeated. “I don’t think I can stand up, Jon. It hurts.”

 

“I know it does, Sansa. It’s okay. I think I can carry you. Just be brave for a couple more minutes, okay?”

 

* * *

 

Screams echoed throughout the room. The sheets tied themselves around her legs like tourniquets and for a moment Sansa felt like she was drowning. With a surge of panic, she reached out for Jon—only to find the other side of her bed empty. Sobs bubbled up her throat before she could stop them.

 

“Sansa? Sansa, what’s wrong?” Ned threw the door open and was scrambling for the light switch.

 

“Dad?” Sansa pulled the covers back around her. “I need Jon.”

 

Ned paused before nodding silently. “I’ll call him.”

 

It wasn’t long before he got there. For Sansa, it felt like an eternity, but the clock told her it wasn’t more than a half hour. He was bundled up in a thick winter coat, boots still on and covered with snow. Ghost came before Jon did, bounding up the stairs and curling on Sansa’s legs.

 

“Sansa.” He murmued, shedding his winter gear before coming up to her bed. “What happened?”

 

“I—“ She shivered despite the layers cocooning her. It was enough to concern Jon, apparently—as he slid in between the covers and pulled her close. “I just… I keep having nightmares when you aren’t around.”

 

Vulnerability. It was something she knew well, something she had once used as her armor. It wasn’t fair to push that on Jon, Sansa knew that, but he was the only person who could stop her hands from trembling.

 

It was mid-February. She hadn’t seen Joffrey in over a year, but his hands still ghosted over her when she let her mind rest. Jon knew what it was like to relive the moments that you wished you could just disappear forever—knew what it was like to need someone to hold on to.

 

“I need to tell you something.” _Don’t run away from this, Sansa._ “I need to tell you something before I lose my nerve, because it’s not fair of me to expect you to keep rushing to me when you receive nothing in return—“

 

“You don’t have to—“

 

“Yes I _do._ ” She insisted. “I love you, Jon Snow. I love you and that _scares_ me.” Her voice trembled and her hands shook but in that moment, she felt braver than she had since before she met Joff. “You make me brave. How can I rely on someone else for bravery? But every time I see your face I feel like I could take on the world if I needed to.”

 

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispered. “You make me brave, too. I know you would be brave even without me. You are a Stark.”

 

“Family names mean nothing,” Sansa said. “You are a Targaryen without a touch of madness. Joffrey is a Baratheon and has… he has a different type of ferocity.”

 

“Family names mean everything.” Jon shifted beside her, his arms coming around to grip her more tightly. “You are a Stark and a Tully. Family, duty, honour, right? Those are the Tully words?” She nodded. “Winter is coming. I’ve never really liked the Stark words. Your dad loves them—but they serve a purpose. You know what I always thought the purpose was? It means that you have to be prepared for the worst because you never know what you’ll have to face. Winter is coming is a warning of sorts… to gather your bravery, gather your resources—be prepared to face what is coming.”

 

“So?” Sansa murmured.

 

“So, you have your bravery. I am your resource. And we will face whatever is coming for us.”

 

The look on his face was enough to convince her that maybe he was right—maybe she possessed her own bravery. Her mum always told her there was _bravery in being soft._ Softness no longer served her, but perhaps she _could_ be soft once more.

 

“Why are you so good to me?” Sansa asked softly. “You rush over here even though you have to work in…” she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. “Four hours.”

 

“Because that’s what you do when you love someone, Sansa.” Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it had been too long since someone had loved her the way that Jon did—it might have been never. She thought once that Joffrey _did_ love her in the way that she deserved, but she had never been sure. _Never_ as sure as she was when Jon told her he loved her.

 

Part of her wanted to cry again. To scream like she had when she had woken up. Something about the rawness served the moment well—they were baring their souls for the first time in memory. Even as children they had danced around their feelings, she knew Jon had much longer than she had.

 

“Thank you, Jon.” His chuckle startled her. “What?”

 

“You are going to have to stop saying thank you one day, you know. I’m going to be here for a while.”

 

It was unsaid, but the ring hung in the air between them like storm clouds. They both knew their future together was inevitable but Jon was too polite and kind to mention it and she was too much of a coward (no matter what he said) to accept it. There are times that she switches the direwolf ring she wears to her ring finger and walks around, trying to get used to the weight.

 

And she’s almost ready. Robb and Margaery’s wedding plans are well underway and each tasting, fitting, and planning session brings her closer to where she wants to be. One day that _will_ be them, and she knows it, but there’s no rush.

 

It haunted her, however, how desperately she wanted to be with him. There are moments like these where she realizes that even if their love is all-consuming, the world is a cruel place. What if he is taken from her like his father was taken from his mother? If anything ever happened to him she knew she would be lost.

 

It was those thoughts that pulled her into sleep, cuddled against Jon’s chest.

 

* * *

 

Jon woke at half seven, legs still tangled with Sansa’s. The night before had reinforced his desire to be around her at all times—to protect her no matter what. But he knew he couldn’t be around her forever. Not like they were now.

 

He knew that they were making progress. Baby steps. Even Robb had reassured him that Sansa was making progress. Therapy was helping, Robb said. She didn’t cry as much as she used to. Work was overwhelming both himself and Robb, and he was spending less and less time with Sansa. Maybe that was for the best.

 

He didn’t want to suffocate her—he needed her to know that she had an out at any time. That was one of _his_ insecurities. Everyone in his life had left him at some point. Even Ygritte, who he had loved with all of his heart, had left him in the end. He clutched Sansa a little tighter at the thought.

 

The cool air of the bedroom pressed in on him as he regretfully untangled himself from her warm embrace. There was nothing he wanted more than to lay there with her forever, but he had clients who needed his attention. The law firm wouldn’t wait forever and he had taken up his full-time position once more.

 

Ghost peaked at him from the edge of the bed. Jon ran his hand through the soft fur on his neck. “You stay with Sansa. Make sure she sleeps.” It was a poor substitute for him, but it would have to do.

 

With one last glance, he pulled his trousers on and prepared himself for the day ahead.

 

* * *

 

Sansa woke to the light streaming through her window. Though she knew that Jon would be gone when she woke up, she was still disappointed when she rolled over and found his side of the bed empty and cold. It heartened her to see Ghost laying at her feet—it meant that Jon would be back later. Hopefully he would stay awhile.

 

The coffee shop was coming along, slowly but surely. It was enough to give her something to do in her downtime, but not enough to distract her totally. Her parents were incredibly supportive, they were helping with the logistics. They had a storefront picked out in downtown Winterfell. It was right in the middle of downtown in a beautiful red brick building that was built a hundred or so years before.

 

Today, she decided, would be a good day to find suppliers. She still needed a steady supply of beans from Essos, equipment, and employees. It was all quite overwhelming, but exciting at the same time. It was the most adult thing that she had done since leaving King’s Landing.

 

The hours flew by as she worked. By the end she had four employees ready to start when the shipments came in—and equipment ready to be shipped as soon as possible. She couldn’t wait to tell Jon.

 

He came by around eight. Long days weren’t anything new, Sansa knew what she had been getting herself into from the start. “How was work?” She asked as he stripped off his mittens and coat.

 

“Good. We have a few people who really need help.” Jon gave her a kiss on the cheek and called for Ghost.

 

“I worked on the coffee shop today.” Sansa smiled brilliantly. “It’s really starting to come along. It feels real, Jon.”

 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. “I knew you would do great things.”

 

Sansa blushed and pulled back. “Come on, mum made pizza. I saved a piece for you.”

 

Jon groaned happily. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xx Ash


	14. “You can have half.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa pulls the coffee shop together. Jon visits his Aunt Dany on Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update??? Who am I? 
> 
> Updates will be coming slowly but surely. This weekend I'll be out of town but I hope to have another chapter up before then. 
> 
> As always @weasleyrose on tumblr.

_I love you_ came easier with each passing breath. The weeks flowed into each other until they all blurred together. The coffee shop was coming together—little pieces being shipped to the new storefront every day. So far they had a functional bar, complete with an espresso machine and air pots.

 

It made her feel human again—she felt _useful_ for the first time in ages. Years, really. It was all because of her. The shop was _hers,_ which could be seen in the wall color (a soft caramel color), the seating (it was all very modern; wooden seating at different heights), and even the bar—which was crusted with twinkling fairy lights. During the summer, there were large windows that could open and let the breeze in—it felt very homey.

 

Jon was incredibly supportive. Late at night they would stay up while Sansa sorted bags of coffee, or made orders. The store was set to open early April, just in time for spring. Margaery was thrilled for her, said her family would be supplying fresh flowers when the time came.

 

Everything wasn’t perfect—no matter how much she wished it to be. Jon was gone for long periods of time. First it was work—the firm did a good deal of work in the poorer parts of King’s Landing and the surrounding areas. Then it was something else—his father’s sister was getting married to someone called Drogo. Apparently he was from Essos, and they had met on holiday in Meereen. It was all very sudden, according to Dany.

Jon felt compelled to spend time with her. It was, after all, his aunt—though they were only a few years apart. There was a bitterness in him, Sansa knew, that ran quite deep. Even though his father didn’t choose to abandon him, he still died. There was no father for Jon in the end, nor was there a mother. Even with the Starks, he felt alone in the universe.

 

It was mid-March and things were starting to heat up—literally and figuratively. The shop would open in just two weeks, and the weather was changing from dreadful to drizzly. It was Sansa’s second favorite time of the year, when the snow melted and rivulets formed in the mud. It was hopeful, peaceful, and felt like a fresh start.

 

Jon was visiting Dany in Dragonstone, and she hadn’t heard from him yet that day. He wasn’t much for texting, and neither was Sansa. They weren’t the type of couple that needed to keep in constant contact, thankfully. Joffrey had always wanted to know what she was doing at _all_ times. Jon trusted her to live her life.

 

It still brought a smile to her face when her phone screen lit up. It was a snapchat from Jon, and when she opened it she saw Ghost with Jon’s smiling form with the words “I miss you” printed on the picture. It made her heart swell, she had missed him impossibly much. She wanted to hear his voice, just for a minute.

 

Sansa didn’t want to smother Jon. When they were together they were _always_ together. They hardly spent a _minute_ apart—sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, spending evenings together. It felt good, _right_ to have him by her side. So much so that she felt the emptiness when he wasn’t around. In a snap decision, she clicked his contact and pressed the call button. He picked up on the first ring.

 

“Sansa.” The deep, Northern accent made her heart constrict.

 

“Jon.” She paused for a second, picking at her dress. “I miss you.”

 

“I miss you too, Sansa. It’s bloody hot here.” That earned him a chuckle. It felt odd to laugh—she had felt empty since he had left the week before.

 

“When are you coming home?” She was being selfish. Perhaps Arya was right, maybe she _was_ a princess. A dependent princess.

 

“ _Home_.” The way he said it made her pulse pound. It was only one syllable, but he drew it out deliciously. “Gods, Sansa. I want to be there now. Dany has me doing wedding planning. I’m… I’m the only family she has. She never met my father, and my grandparents died right after my dad did, so she really didn’t have anyone either.” Sansa knew all of this already, but hearing it made her feel better. Less jealous.

 

There wasn’t anything to be jealous of. Jon had enough love to give to _everyone._ “I know, Jon. I just…” she took a deep breath, willing herself to be brave. “I miss you so much.”

 

“I’ll be home in a few days, and then you’ll get to pick _me_ up from the airport.” She laughed softly at that. Finally, she was able to return the favor.

 

“Okay.” She murmured. “Jon?”

 

“Sansa.”

 

“I love you.” It was so fluid, it fell off her tongue like water. It felt like living and dying at the same time, like she had given him a piece of her soul—which she had, truly.

 

“Aye. I love you too.”

 

“Bye.” She pressed the end button before she could do something stupid, like ask him home.

 

Lady nudged her hand gently, urging Sansa to pet her. It almost made her sad. She missed Ghost, and she knew lady did as well.

 

* * *

 

Jon stood on the edge of the world with a clear view of the waves beating against the rocks. Dragonstone, it was called. It was a fitting name for such a place. He could almost picture the dragons soaring high above the castle that still stood. It was magnificent, and he was still surprised that his family had once inhabited it.

 

Dany lived in a much smaller cottage near the cliffs. It was a modest dwelling, complete with a shiny red door. He thought it was charming, and Dany loved it. It was her perfect house, she had told him. She’d built it as soon as she was old enough to access her trust fund.

 

He loved Dany. There were pieces of them weaved together so intricately only family would be able to understand. They were the last of the Targaryens, and they needed to stick together. That’s what he had told her.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dany had to raise her voice to be heard over the waves. “Imagine dragons flying over the waves. That’s even more impressive.”

 

“It is.” It was lonely to him, though. No southroner would ever call Dragonstone hot, but he felt _hot_ at all times. It just wasn’t the same as Winterfell. It wasn’t home.

 

 _Home._ Sansa had said. _When are you coming home?_ It was then he realized that home was Sansa. Home was his heart calling out to hers. No matter where they were in the world home would always be with her. It clung to him like a film of loneliness.

 

His family’s ancestral home, and he felt nothing.

 

He’d been to Dragonstone before. A few times. Dany had always offered to pay for his flight—he didn’t need it, of course. He had a trust fund too, but Dany felt better for asking (or so he thought) and he felt warm knowing that someone cared about him enough to put him on a plane.

 

“You miss her.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow Dany knew him better than some of his closest friends did. It made him feel whole again—something that had been missing since his mum died.

 

“Aye.” He wished he could say more, but he wasn’t a man for words. Most of the time. “I—ah—“

 

“You love her.” Another statement. He knew Dany was good at those.

 

“Aye.” He nodded, running a hand through his mangled curls. “I would marry her tomorrow if she asked.”

 

That put a smile on Dany’s face. “I think that everyone would be happy for us, you know. Happy that we are here, happy that we are happy.” She reached out and rested a hand on his arm. It was a gentle touch, but it was enough to make his eyes slide shut. He felt relaxed in that moment. At peace, but not without the tinge of sadness. The one he felt when they were apart.

 

“I know how you feel.” Dany murmured. “Drogo and I… I feel like I have known him all my life. I feel like we were meant to be together.”

 

Jon nodded. He knew how it felt. The aching, longing feeling he felt around Sansa was something that felt eternal. He would never be able to get enough of her. With Sansa, it felt like he had loved her forever—much longer than he had.

 

“I’m glad that you are marrying Drogo. He scares the shite out of me but he seems like he loves you too.” Drogo was imposing, hugely tall and sinewy. He’d never seen Drogo fight, but apparently, he was a world-class boxer. He didn’t talk much, but neither did Jon. Dany filled in the silences with talks of her non-profit organizations and the art she has picked out recently.

 

Jon didn’t mind listening to Dany talk. She was good at it, much better than he was. It probably came from being raised by a politician. After her parents died, Dany was raised between Essos and Dragonstone by a family friend named Illyrio, with the help of her older brother. Jon had never met Viserys, he had died before Jon had met Dany, but Dany hated him.

 

They sat around the table in the cottage, conversation flowing (most of it coming from Dany) when Jon realized just how _empty_ the room seemed without Sansa. Dany said that he _had_ to bring her next time he came to Dragonstone (and for the wedding), to which he agreed fervently. He knew she was busy with the coffee shop but she told him her staff was competent enough to take over for a few days.

 

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Dany laughed in her wineglass, hair cascading over her shoulders—looking almost white in the dim light of the kitchen.

 

Jon’s cheeks colored. Was he really _that_ obvious? He’d never had a poker face. “I think she would like it here. She loves art, and your cottage is just her kind of thing.”

 

Dany’s eyes softened at that. He knew that she took pride in what she had. From what he understood, her childhood hadn’t been easy. He, at least, had a mother and the Starks growing up. “I can’t wait to meet him, Jon. Really. She sounds wonderful.”

 

The days passed with Jon helping Dany with her wedding preparations, and with some legal problems with her non-profit. They worked nearly all day, alternating between the two, until Jon quite literally couldn’t read any longer. It was finally time for him to go home, and for that he was grateful.

 

The airport was packed and bustling. He’d been sad to leave Dany, but happy that he was going to see Sansa and the rest of the family. Arya had been texting him nonstop about how she couldn’t stand Sansa moping, and how the babies missed him. One of those was believable.

 

The second he touched down he texted Sansa.

 

> **Jon** : I’ve landed. I don’t know who is more excited to me home, me or Ghost.
> 
> **Sansa** : Actually I think I am.
> 
> **Jon** : Are you close?
> 
> **Sansa** : I’ve been here for an hour, just in case.

 

She sent a little smiley face with the last text. A grin spread across his face instantly. She had been waiting for him.

 

It didn’t take long for him to find his luggage, and he nearly _ran_ out of the baggage claim and into the pick-up area. When he saw her, standing in leggings and a blue sweater that matched her eyes, his heart nearly stopped. “Sansa!” He couldn’t help himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed every part that he could reach. Her nose, her forehead, her neck, her lips—anything to keep him lips on her.

 

“Jon!” Sansa pulled back slightly. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

 

“I’ve only been gone for two weeks.” It felt much longer, but they both knew that.

 

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

 

They linked hands once in the car. It was glorious, to feel her next to him. “Is that cookies I smell?”

 

She grinned. “Your favorite.” He pulled open the center console and found a bundle of cookies wrapped in wax paper. “Get me one?”

 

“You can have half.” He teased, breaking off a piece for her.

 

“So generous.”

 

Jon filled in Sansa about his trip for most of the ride home. It wasn’t all that interesting, her stories about the coffee shop were far more intriguing, but Sansa asked him questions all the same. It felt like no time at all that they were back at his cottage, pulling up the drive.

 

“Jon,” Sansa bit her lip, features coloring a soft pink. “I wanted to ask you something.”

 

He glanced from the trunk where he was gathering his luggage to her face. “’course.”

 

“I know we have been taking things slow.” He had been dreading this conversation, the weight of the ring he carried with him feeling like a boulder in his pocket. “But I was wondering if you’d like to… to move in together?”

 

That made him deliriously happy. She trusted him enough to want to be with him _all_ the time. “Are you sure, Sansa?”

 

“I am.” She looked bolder, standing with her shoulders straight. “I love you, Jon. I want this. I want _us._ ”

 

He scooped her up, luggage forgotten. She felt so right cuddled against his chest that it was possible to forget they were standing in mud, surrounded by the crisp air of spring. “Let’s go in then, yeah? Home.”

 

 _Home_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! xx Ash


	15. "I noticed."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa DO IT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously explicit, people. I knew I would get around to this eventually. Very smutty. I am Bad At Smut so forgive me! 
> 
> I put in a lil flashback at the end, a continuation of the last one. 
> 
> This chapter felt like an ending!! I feel like I would be fine leaving it here should I decide to do so. I want to push one more chapter (Robbaery wedding!!) before ending it. 
> 
> As always, @weasleyrose on tumblr. I love you guys!

They moved in together in May. The coffee shop was up and running—early mornings were becoming something of a routine. Finally, after months of dealing with Jon’s long days and late nights, Sansa understood what it was like to want nothing more than to go home.

 

The walls of the cottage were filling up. It was little things at first—spending their days off going to thrift stores and putting together picture frames. The Stark Estate provided polaroids from their youth—mostly pictures where they are posed feet apart—and even some from more recent events. There were some from the day the twins were born, taken by Rickon when they weren’t paying attention. Those were Sansa’s favorite—seeing their heads tipped together, catching up after being apart for so many months. The look on their faces was so clear—they loved each other, even then. Especially then.

 

There were other pictures too. Pictures of them when Sansa had first come home. Arya had gotten one of them dancing at the Christmas party, bodies pressed together in such an intimate way she wondered why she had left in the first place. There was another, the Santa picture, that she treasured as well. She hadn't noticed at the time, but Jon looked at her with such raw emotion in his eyes it gave her butterflies every time she looked at it.

 

* * *

 

Having two wolfdogs in one house was an issue. The dogs got along fine, but the cottage wasn’t as big as it had felt before. They were struggling to not trip everywhere they walked. That, and there was no way the dogs could share the bed. Sansa knew Jon slept better when Ghost was near.

 

Sansa was happy, but it felt like there were a million miles to go. They still hadn’t slept together. It was something that Sansa had been building up to. Each night she let Jon see more and more of her—touch more and more of her—until she was ready to let go. Jon was so patient with her it nearly broke her heart. He deserved someone who wasn’t broken or afraid. He was the bravest person she knew, and the softest. If only _she_ could be brave. And soft.

* * *

 

It was a rainy day in May when Jon found Sansa in their room, flipping through a book without any intention of actually reading it. He took a minute to look—really look at her—surrounded by pillows and blankets. Her dress was a pale blue, and _gods_ did it suit her. It fell around her in waves, dropping almost to the ground. And they _belonged_ to each other. That was the best part. He never had to share her again.

 

She glanced up from her book and a smile spread across her face. “Jon! You’re home!” She gestured for him to join her on the bed and he obliged immediately.

 

The way she looked at him—all loving sparkle—made his stomach flip even on his worst days. His love for her was boundless, he realized. There was no controlling it. “You look beautiful today.” He murmured, pulling her closer.

 

She smiled at that. One of her genuine, thousand watt smiles that melted his heart. Her eyes crinkled a little bit, as though she didn’t quite believe him. He knew that he would convince her until the day he died, if she would let him.

 

“Jon?” Sansa bit her lip, eyes wandering—not quite meeting his.

 

“Hmm?” He traced patterns on her back. Little circles that wove up and down, tickling the skin where her dress left it bare. She shivered under his touch and he couldn’t help but notice the goose pimples that speckled her flesh.

 

“I think I’m ready.” Sansa sounded sure. Resolute.

 

Jon guided her face to his so he could see her properly. They didn’t have to elaborate, they both knew what they had been holding back. “Are you sure?”

 

She nodded, a shy smile splitting her face in two. “I love you. I _trust_ you.”

 

That was almost _sexy,_ it wouldn’t have been in normal circumstances, had she not thrown a leg over his hip. Despite her willingness, he took his time. His lips started at her neck, tonguing languid kisses here and there. He paid careful attention to her reactions, the way she moaned and shifted closer to him when he hit a particularly good spot.

 

He shifted then, rolled on top of her—careful to balance his weight on his arms. His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, which drew out an eager mewl from her. “More,” Sansa moaned. “Please, Jon.”

 

Never one to deny her, he crawled down towards her feet. Slowly, tantalizingly, he ran his hands under the seam of her dress—pushing it higher, higher, higher—up over her thighs, making sure to dip his hands _just so_ to give her a taste of what was to come.

 

He ran his hands over her stomach, slowly, gently. His lips followed, kissing patterns along her abdomen before dipping his tongue in her belly button. That earned him a fist in his hair, pulling ever so slightly at the roots. He moaned softly, winding his way up her chest. Luckily for him, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

 

He guided her dress over her head, and just like that, she was nearly naked—only her knickers separating him from bare skin. It was such a glorious sight, seeing her like that. He would’ve taken more time to appreciate it if she didn’t pull him down towards her breast. Jon didn’t mind, he took one nipple into his mouth and ran a thumb over the other.

 

“ _Please,_ Jon.” He smirked against her breast, nipping gently, before sliding down her body once more. Jon thumbed the waistband on her panties teasingly.

 

“What do you want, Sansa?” He asked coyly. “Tell me.”

 

“I want _you._ I want your mouth on me.” Sansa murmured breathlessly. “ _Please._ ”

 

Jon jerked down her panties then, kissing along her pelvis until his mouth found her wet and wanting. “Sansa…” Jon growled. “You are so _wet._ ” She whimpered, fisting the sheets as he licked up her slit, carefully avoiding her nub. That could wait. Jon wanted to hear her beg some more.

 

“ _Please Jon!”_ He gripped her legs gently as he flicked his tongue at her nub. Once more her hands came to fist in his hair, encouraging him further. She was trembling under his touch, a blissful sort of shake that can only come from pleasure. “I want you inside of me.” She begged. “Please.”

 

It was then he realized that he was still fully clothed. He leapt of the bed, shedding his clothes and trying to remember where on _Earth_ he put the condoms when he heard a crinkling noise from the bed. When he turned around he saw the _most_ delicious sight he had ever seen in his _life._ Sansa Stark, one hand circling her clit lazily, the other brandishing a foil package. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” her voice was as sultry as he had ever heard it. He laid a hand on his hard and waiting member, attempting to relieve some of the tension. “I touched myself, wishing it was you.”

 

Jon moaned loud and long, watching her thin fingers tangle in her coarse red hair. It was agony of the sweetest kind. He was stuck between wanting to watch her forever and wanting to be inside her, but the latter won out. He quickly donned the condom and looked to her for permission one last time. At her nod, and the sexy way she bit her lip as she did so, he entered her slowly.

 

“ _More._ ” Sansa demanded, finger nails scratching a path down his back. He obliged, mouth finding her breast once more. She felt so _good_ around him, like they were meant to fit together, just like that, forever. Her moans spurred him on, and soon enough he was fighting to not come like a green boy—straight off the bat. It was hard enough—he hadn’t had sex in over a year—but he wanted her to come first. He wanted to see her face as she came undone because of _him._ He offered his finger to her mouth, letting her lubricate it before he found her sweet spot.

 

It took less time than he had expected before she was keening underneath him, eyes shut and mouth open in a delicious O shape. He followed her, thrusting _one, two, three_ times before collapsing beside her, deliciously boneless.

 

“I love you, Jon Snow.” She murmured after a few minutes of post-orgasm bliss. “That was…”

 

“Aye.” Jon chuckled beside her. “It was.”

 

“I meant what I said,” Sansa whispered, hand trailing down his chest. “I thought about that all day.”

 

“I noticed.” And he _had._ She had been ready for him.

 

“Can we do that more often?” She asked.

 

Jon laughed. “Of course we can.”

 

They tangled together, limbs sprawled across chests and lazy kisses pressed on any skin they could reach. Jon had not known that you could love someone so completely, as he did Sansa in that moment. She was the steadying force that kept him grounded when all he had wanted to do was hide. He felt lucky, truly blessed, that she had chosen him to pick her up from the airport that day.

 

He felt stupid thinking it, but he truly felt that the old gods—and perhaps the new ones—meant for them to be together. It was some divine intervention that had them fall in love so completely in such a short amount of time.

 

Jon felt it again, the weight of the ring in his dresser drawer. They weren’t ready yet, but he _knew_ that they would spend the rest of their lives together. Their fates were entwined so tightly that he wasn’t sure he would ever be rid of Sansa, even if he wanted to be.

 

* * *

 

Sansa knew true happiness once more. She knew that she belonged where she was—laying in the circle of Jon’s arms, so protected she was that she nearly forgot about her past. For the first time since she had been with Joff, she didn’t feel broken when another person touched her. There was no flinching, no running away, no hesitancy. She had just given herself to Jon, truly, and felt _good_ after. Not used. Not unloved. No, she felt _whole._

 

She wasn’t naïve enough to think that it would last forever. Joff still haunted her when she was least expecting it. At night, when she was most vulnerable, his hands found her over and over again. She was working through the memories, though.

 

There was no girl left in her. It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. The person who had gone down South didn’t exist anymore. She was a wolf once more, fierce and protective of the things she cared about. Everyone could see the shift in her, the way she sat straighter and talked louder. Winterfell was good for her.

 

Jon Snow, her unlikely love, had come back into her life exactly how she would have hoped. Spontaneously and thoughtfully. They often talked about how lucky they were that she had called him. If she hadn’t, she might not have come home from King’s Landing, or she may have called a cab.

 

But she knew, she _always_ knew, that Jon Snow was her Knight. Some part of her knew that he would always be there to scoop her back up and help her be brave, even if she didn’t think she could be brave again.

 

* * *

 

Some years before... 

 

There was a shuffling in the kitchen as Jon set Sansa down on one of the chairs. “Mrs. Stark!” He could only pray that Catelyn was nearby in such a large space. Tears were streaming down Sansa’s cheeks and he didn’t want to leave her in such a state. Luckily, she was just outside.

 

“What is it, Jon?” When Catelyn saw Sansa, her eyes went wide. “What happened?”

 

“Robb dropped her when we were playing Knights and Maidens. Her ankle is hurt.”

 

Catelyn examined the ankle from all angles before fetching an ice pack from the fridge. “I don’t think it’s broken. Jon, will you stay with her while I call Doctor Luwin?”

 

He nodded, crossing his arms in a stance he hoped looked brave. “I’ll take good care of her.”

 

Catelyn paused, then nodded her head. “I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xx Ash


	16. "Wow." / "You didn't have to ask."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa share a special moment. Robbaery wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! How bittersweet are endings? 
> 
> I have enjoyed writing this fic so much. I really, truly thank each and every one of you for leaving comments and kudos. I mean that. I read them all. 
> 
> This is it for Sweet Creature. I might do a one shot here and there in this universe if I feel the need. In that case, I would turn in into a series. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you. 
> 
> I hope you guys catch The Great Gatsby reference in this chapter! 
> 
> In the meantime, look forward to a new modern au coming soon! And I still have the melodrama series in the works. 
> 
> If you miss me, come talk to me on tumblr! @weasleyrose. Love you guys SO MUCH!

The December chill brushed over Sansa’s skin, causing a smattering of goose pimples to arise on her arms. She wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter, shivering just slightly as she watched the dogs run around the yard.

 

Jon and Sansa celebrated their anniversary on the day of the airport. It was a decision they had come to jointly, having discussed it on a lazy Sunday morning the week before. It was the most monumental moment in their relationship, and it was something they both looked back on fondly.

 

Jon had gone to King’s Landing earlier in the week. He was due back by the morning, and Sansa had something special planned for him.

 

Tomorrow she was going to propose to Jon Snow.

 

She knew he didn’t want to push her, which she was immensely grateful for, but she was ready. It had been the most wonderful year of her life, getting to know Jon Snow. He was her best friend, her biggest confidant, and the love of her life. Soulmates, if you will—though she thought she had stopped believing in those things ages ago. Jon made her believe again. Soulmates existed, she knew they did, was reminded of it every time his eyes softened _just so_ around her.

 

The proposal would be simple. Something that reminded them of how far they had come in the two years since they had reconnected. It would be in the gazebo—a place she now looked on with fondness. The dogs would be there, of course. Sansa had sewn them costumes (Ghost a tuxedo and Lady a dress befitting of her name) and planned to turn the gazebo into a romantic winter wonderland once more.

 

Part of her felt guilty—Robb and Margaery were getting married in a matter of days and she didn’t want to steal their thunder. She had decided that they would announce the engagement after the wedding, and asked Arya and Gendry if they would help her set up _and_ help keep it a secret. They had agreed _(“Gods, took you long enough!”)_ and the plan was in motion. All she needed was for Jon to show up.

 

* * *

 

Dawn fanned it’s fingers out across the sky, casting the world in a pale orange light. It was beautiful—moments like these always reminded Jon of how alive he was, after all he had endured. Winterfell always had the best sunrises and sunsets. Jon was a morning person, had been ever since he joined the military. Since dating Sansa, he would get up and make coffee (properly, not instant like he used to) and sit on the porch to watch the sun rise before going for a run.

 

Today was different, though. Sansa had gotten up before him, leaving a note in her careful looping cursive. It read: _gone to help Marg with some last minute wedding stuff. meet me at the estate at 8?_ There was a French press sitting next to the note that was ready to be made. He put the water on to boil and prepared for the day ahead.

 

The law firm was expanding. Jon felt fulfilled for the first time in years. Happiness looked good on him, Sansa had said. The light in his eyes was back for the first time since his mom died. Nightmares were fewer, he had started seeing a therapist. He was a proud man—bold, like his mother—but Sansa had told him the bravest thing to do would be to seek help. He supposed she was right. Noises scared him less and less. The jitters came less and less.

 

By the time eight rolled around he was itching to see Sansa. They had been apart for nearly a week, and he was ready to pull her into his arms and perhaps make use of her old bedroom. The urge to touch her—to be _near_ her didn’t ease as time went on. Quite the opposite, he found himself growing closer and closer to her. She was like a drug.

 

When he arrived at the Estate, he found candles shimmering in the snow, creating a path. Arya stood out against the stark white landscape, looking like a marshmallow in her winter jacket. “What’s this?” Jon called over the wind.

 

“Follow the candles to find out. And you better bloody hurry because I’m _freezing!_ ”

 

 He chuckled as he followed the candles. A familiar figure bounded toward him, wearing some sort of outfit. “Ghost? Is that you?” There was no mistaking his piercing red eyes, but he’d never seen the outfit before. It looked like a tux. Lady strolled over soon enough—slowly, and with all of the grace that she carried. So much like Sansa it urged him forward.

 

The snow crinkled under his boots. It was good packing snow, the kind that they loved as children. And it was still snowing in earnest—little drifts encircling him like mini tornadoes. It was a miracle that the candles were still lit in this weather.

 

He knew where it would lead him, had figured it out as soon as he saw the candles. What he was confused by was the _reason_ she was leading him there. It was their spot—they had spent many a summer night tangled together listening to old records in the gazebo. It was magical, imprinted with their love.

 

The sight in front of him was enough to take his breath away. Not much surprised Jon Snow anymore. Sansa had turned the gazebo into something spectacular. There were white sheets billowing in the wind, swirling through the air so wondrously he stood and stared at them for a moment. The most beautiful sight of all, however, was Sansa. She was standing in the middle, bundled up in her winter gear. A scarf was covering her face but he could see the sparkle in her eyes. A fire was roaring behind her, so large that he was worried it would set the sheets ablaze.

 

Jon was coaxed into the gazebo—though he did love admiring the splendor of it from afar—by the promise of Sansa and the warmth the fire would bring. As soon as he crossed the threshold he grabbed her into his arms, squeezing her tightly. “What is this?” He whispered against her hair.

 

“I love you.” Sansa declared. “I love you, and I wanted to do this properly.” And to his complete and utter surprise, she wiggled out of his arms and dropped to a knee.

 

“What?” Jon’s eyes went wide. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. The ring in his pocket grew heavy once more. “What are you doing?”

 

“We aren’t the most conventional couple,” Sansa’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “But I love you _so much,_ Jon Snow. I love you like I’ve never loved anything or anyone. You’ve done so much for me in the past few years and you’ve been so patient. You wanted to marry me at my worst. Now I’m ready. Good and truly ready to be Mrs. Snow.” Her nose crinkled ever so slightly. “Though that does make me sound like the world’s worst Mrs. Clause.”

 

Jon managed a laugh, holding back his own tears. “Wow.” He said, taking a knee himself. “We should do this as equals, you know. Even though I asked your dad already.” Sansa smiled at that, tears making her face glow in the light of the fire. Jon pulled the ring out of his pocket. “I’ve had this ring since you came back from Braavos.” It was silver, the band shaped like weirwood branches with a beautiful ruby in the center. He slid it on her finger and smiled. “I thought that I could use the ring you gave me as my ring, and we could represent the north and the south.”

 

Sansa looked like she was going to start sobbing, and Jon prayed that was a good thing. “Jon Snow.” Her voice wobbled just slightly. “You are a romantic after all.” _Of course_ he was, but it was all for her. Everything he did was for her. “So is that a yes?” She asked.

 

“You didn’t have to ask.”

 

* * *

 

The day of Robb and Margery’s wedding, it stormed. A snow storm that was enough to shut down highways. By some miracle, Winterfell continued to function.

 

They had battled for months over where the wedding would be held. Margaery wanted it to be held at the family greenhouses in the South. The Tyrells still owned most of Highgarden, and their florist empire stretched all the way North.

 

Robb argued that their family was more ancient, and that the Starks still got married by the Old Gods. Weirwoods were important to them, and heart trees even more dear. Margaery argued that heart trees were _scary_ and that her wedding would be beautiful and _lovely._

 

In the end, they had found a shaky truce. They would get married at the Stark Estate, _and_ there would be a ceremony honoring the Old Gods. Then they would go down south and have a small private ceremony in the family sept. Everyone was happy, for the most part.

 

Margaery outfitted them all in blood red. It looked surprisingly good on everyone—a rarity for bridesmaids. Arya complained about it for months leading up to the main event, but softened when she saw how cute the twins looked in their outfits.

 

They turned the Stark Estate into a Christmas winter wonderland. Jon and Sansa had helped prepare for weeks—living in a shared post-engagement bliss. The amount of _Snow_ jokes that were thrown around was bordering ridiculous, but it was a secret they would share for just a little longer. Just the two of them, soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Snow.

 

They talked about their wedding while they worked, voices hushed and heads dipped together. Sansa wanted to get married on their anniversary, but she also loved the idea of a midsummer wedding. She wanted everyone to be wearing flowers, wanted everyone to look like they were blooming.

 

There was one thing they absolutely agreed upon: they wanted to get married as soon as possible. Jon said he would marry her naked and in the middle of winter if she so pleased, which made her giggle.

 

Robb and Margaery were both fussing. Sansa had seen Robb cry more than once, always hiding it behind a “quick cigarette break” or “his allergies.” Margaery was the strong one, powering through the day like she powered through everything. She looked radiant—taffeta gown falling around her like clouds. She wore a poinsettia flower crown that was so lovely Sansa did a double take the first time she saw it. It was sprayed with glitter, which made the poinsettias sparkle like diamonds. Each and every flower was picked with such care that there was no question whose wedding it was.

 

Winterfell Castle still stood, thousands of years later. The Stark family had turned it into a museum some time previously, but it was still used for events. The wedding would take place at the heart tree, and the guests would then attend a reception at the Stark Estate.

 

Sansa donned her dress, admiring her figure in the mirror. Her hair was done up in a northern fashion—braids forming a crown on the top of her head. The hairstylist had weaved her hair with various foliage. The effect was breathtaking. She looked like she belonged in a fairytale.

 

Jon came up behind her, arms encircling her waist right before they were due to be outside. “You look so lovely. Every inch a Stark.” He was right, she finally looked like she belonged in the north.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

They descended the staircase together and wound their way through the crowd to their spots at the tree. Thankfully, there were heaters keeping the guests warm. It was incredibly chilly, but they had thick traditional furs to keep them warm. An outsider could’ve mistaken their wedding for one that took place a thousand years ago, if it weren’t for the modern equipment.

 

Margaery floated down the aisle, navigating the snow with an incredible grace that Sansa wished she possessed. The makeshift altar—really just a few planks of wood—looked brilliant as she stood proudly on them.

 

Robb looked like he would cry as they took each other’s hands. The ceremony was like magic, but all Sansa could focus on was Jon. They would be going through the same thing in a short time. They took the long way round, but they got there in the end.

 

“I take this man.” Margaery declared proudly. Robb looked fit to burst, eyes streaming with tears. He took the direwolf cloak from Jon’s hands and threw it over her shoulders, clasping it around her front. The greatest thing about northern weddings were how _short_ they were. Just a few words and that was it.

 

Robb and Margaery embraced each other under the heart tree and everyone could see _just how much_ they loved each other. It was inspiring, really, and Sansa was happy that her brother found someone who could tolerate him, just as she had.

 

Cameras flashed and they posed for pictures, lips pulling up in pure joy. Jon grabbed her arm and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear: “That’s going to be us soon, my sweet Sansa.”

 

“Yes.” She breathed back. “Yes, it will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's lights out for Sweet Creature. Thanks for reading. xx Ash


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